UNTO Thee I lift my eyes, Thou that dwellest in the skies; At Thy throne I meekly bow, Thou canst save, and only Thou.
As a servant marks his lord, As a maid her mistress’ word, So I watch and wait on Thee, Till Thy mercy visit me.
Let Thy face upon me shine, Tell me, Lord, that Thou art mine; Poor and lowly though I be, I have all in having Thee.
Here Thy children’s common lot Is to be despised, forgot; But with Thee to make it up, Lord, I ask no better cup.
Henry Francis Lyte, 1793-1847