My anchor ground, my fortress hill,
My spirit’s silent, fair abode,
In Thee I hide me and am still.
Lead Thou the way, Thou guidest best;
A little child, I follow on,
And, trusting, lean upon Thy breast.
And all is well when it is done;
Unless His will doth hallow it,
The glory of all joy is gone.
Holds fast in its sublime embrace
My captive will, a gladsome bird,
Prisoned in such a realm of grace.
Love evermore expands her wings,
Or nestling in Thy perfect choice,
Abides content with what it brings.
It lifts, it bears my happy soul,
It giveth wings to this poor heart;
My freedom is Thy grand control.
As child upon its mother’s breast;
No silken couch, nor softest bed,
Could ever give me such deep rest.
With triumph now I make it mine;
And faith shall cry a joyous Yes
To every dear command of Thine.