Long did I toil, and knew no earthly rest; Far did I rove, and found no certain home; At last I sought them in His sheltering breast, Who opes His arms, and bids the weary come; With Him I found a home, a rest divine, And I since then am His, and He is mine. The good I have is from His stores supplied; The ill is only what He deems the best; He for my friend, I’m rich with naught beside; And poor without Him, though of all possessed. Changes may come; I take, or I resign; Content, while I am His, while He is mine. While here, alas! I know but half His love, But half discern Him, and but half adore; But when I meet Him in the realms above, I then will love Him better, praise Him more, And feel, and tell, amid the choir divine, How fully I am His, and He is mine.