I come to thee once more, my God,
No longer will I roam,
For I have sought the wide world through
And never found a home.

Though bright and many are the spots,
Where I have built a nest,
Yet in the brightest still I pined
For more abiding rest.

Riches could bring me joy and pow’r,
And they were fair to see;
Yet gold was but a sorry god
To serve instead of thee.

The honour and the world's good word
Appear a nobler faith;
Yet could I rest on bliss that hung,
And trembled on a breath.

The pleasure of the passing hour
My spirit next could wile,
But soon, too soon, my heart fell sick
Of pleasure's weary smile.

More selfish grown, I worshipped health,
The flush of manhood's pow'r,
But then it came and went so quick,
It was but for an hour.

And thus a not unkindly world
Hath done its best for me,
Yet I have found, O God! no rest,
No harbour short of thee.

For thou hast made this wondrous soul
All for thyself alone
Ah, send thy sweet transforming grace
To make it more thine own.