1 I'll lift my voice, O Lord,
to glorify Your name,
for You have lifted me
above defeat and shame;
You heard my cry to heal and save,
and stooped to raise me from the grave.
2 Then to His holy name
let all His saints give priase:
His wrath is brief, His grace
is with us all our days,
for grief and tears may last a night,
but joy will come with morning light.
3 In easy times I'd felt
secure from all life's ills:
Your hand upheld me, Lord,
like Zion's timeless hills;
but with Your smile no longer there
assurance plunged to deep despair.
4 To You, O Lord, I cried:
'What can my death achieve?
From bones among the dust
what praise will You receive?
O Lord, be merciful to me!
Come quickly, help me - hear my plea!'
5 O how I leapt for joy
as grief was put to flight!
My sackcloth You removed
and clothed me with delight,
that You, O Lord, I might adore
and give You thanks for evermore.
Source: The Irish Presbyterian Hymbook #91