The perfect gladness of the Son,
Not conquered—for, behold, we reign;
Conquered and Conqueror are one.
Thy wonderful, grand will, my God,
Triumphantly I make it mine;
And faith shall breathe her glad "Amen"
To every dear command of thine.
Beneath the splendor of thy choice,
Thy perfect choice for me, I rest;
Outside it now I dare not live,