1 Here at Thy cross, my dying Lord,
I lay my soul beneath Thy love,
Beneath the droppings of Thy blood,
Jesus, nor shall it e'er remove.
2 Should worlds conspire to drive me thence,
Moveless and firm this heart should lie;
Resolved--for that's my last defence--
If I must perish, there to die.
3 But speak, my Lord, and calm my fear;
Am I not safe beneath Thy shade?
Thy vengeance will not strike me here,
Nor Satan dares my soul invade.
4 Yes, I'm secure beneath Thy blood,
And all my foes shall lose their aim;
Hosannah to my dying Lord,
And my best honors to His name.
Source: The Book of Worship #300