Sometimes doth my uplifted heart suggest
It is not good Jehovah's yoke to bear;
Forgive, oh God, the thought, and teach my breast,
There's safety in thine arm, and only there.
If God be not my master, where's my place?
If I his kingdom leave, where shall I go?
E'en frighted Chaos bows before his face,
And Hell's dark world doth his dominion know.
May my poor will, O God, be bowed to thine,
Each thought, each purpose, feeling, as thine own,
Ever harmonious with thy great design,
And humbly circling round the central throne,
In thee I live, with thee move joyous on,
Without thy power am lost, extinct, and gone.
— The Religious Offering (1835) Scripture Sonnets XI.