Hymns Pantycelyn 04

This twelfth hymn deals with contentment.

Why should ambition proud and vain

Our deathless souls invade?
And discontentment e'er prevail
To starve our tender blade?

If wealth's our aim, the more we seek
The greater is our pain;
Ambition blind disturbs our rest,
Embitters all our gain.

Thus wearied of the carnal mind,
I earnestly do groan,
And nothing wish beside Thyself,
Thou art enough alone.

Had I the world and all its wealth,
Its pleasures and its gain,
Without Thyself the greatest bliss,
All other were but vain.

My heavy-laden soul would wish
Its rest in Thee to find;
'Tis only Thou that can compose
My ever roving mind.