1 Save me, O Lord, from every foe;
In thee my trust I place;
Tho' all the good that I can do
Can ne'er deserve thy grace.
2 Yet if my God prolong my breath,
The saints may profit by't;
The saints, the glory of the earth,
The men of my delight.
3 Let Heathens to their idols haste,
And worship wood or stone;
But my delightful lot is cast
Where the true God is known.
4 His hand provides my constant food,
He fills my daily cup:
Much am I pleas'd with present good,
But more rejoice in hope.
5 God is my portion and my joy;
His counsels are my light:
He gives me sweet advice by day,
And gentle hints by night.
6 My soul would all her thoughts approve,
To his all seeing eye;
Not death, nor hell, my hope shall move,
While such a friend is nigh.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Save me, o Lord, from ev'ry foe |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1790 |
Scripture: |