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1 My faith looks up to thee,
My faith so small, so slow;
It lifts its drooping eyes to thee,
And claims the blessing now.
Thy wondrous gift, O Lord,
By faith it sees afar,
Thy perfect love it claims to share;
It doth not, cannot fear.
2 My faith takes hold of thee,
My faith so weak, so faint;
It lifts its trembling hands to thee,
Trembling, but violent.
The Kingdom of thy love,
E’en now, it takes by force,
And waits till thou, its last resource,
Shall seal and sanctify.
3 My faith holds fast on thee,
My faith still small, but sure;
Its anchor holds alone to thee,
Whose presence keeps me pure.
And thou, all conquering Lord,
Always to see and hear,
By night, by day, art ever near,
Art ever near to me.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | My faith looks up to thee |
| Author: | Bramwell Booth (1856-1929) |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1986 |
| Topic: | The salvation soldier: Faith and trust |
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