My Heart Is Not My Own

I cannot make my heart my own
And find the happiness I seek,
For when I do my heart will roam—
Presume I’m great in my conceit.

Yet, when my heart becomes His home
By my surrender to His will,
A happy person I become
And hear His voice that’s small and still.

And as the noise of this world fades,
His voice becomes in me a song,
A sound for which I have been made
And now I know to Him belong.