1 Father of all! my soul defend:
On thee my steadfast hopes depend.
Thee let me bless, the faithful guide,
Whose counsels o'er my life preside.
2 Though to the grave I must descend,
(For thus has heav'n's high will ordain'd)
Yet hope e'en there, my constant guest,
Shall smooth the pillow of my rest.
3 Though death awhile reign o'er my frame,
Thou from the grave my life wilt claim;
And, to my eyes, in full survey,
The op'ning paths of life display:
4 Those paths that to thy presence bear;
For plentitude of bliss is there;
And pleasure's streams, unmix'd with woe,
At thy right hand for ever flow.