Every Thing Derived From God Poem by John Bowring

If I aught possess, 'tis Thine;
All I have, to Thee I owe;
Dare I call my being mine?
Life, or breath, or comfort? No!
Lord! I dedicate to Thee
All that Thou hast given to me.


Wilt Thou be my Father yet,
Kind as Thou hast ever been?
And canst Thou thy child forget,
Wandering through this twilight scene?
Never! O how sweet to rest
On Thee, kindest, wisest, best!


Should my heart a moment fail,
Should my steps a moment stray,
Travelling through this tearful vale,-
Guide me to my wonted way,
To the way that leads me on
To Thy glory, to Thy throne.