1 Here at thy cross, my dying God, I lay my soul beneath thy love, Beneath the droppings of thy blood, Jesus, nor shall it e'er remove.
2 Not all that tyrants think or say, With rage and lightning in their eyes, Nor hell shall fright my heart away, Should hell with all its legions rise.
3 Should worlds conspire to drive me thence, Moveless and firm this heart should lie; Resolv'd (for that's my last defence) If I must perish, there to die.
4 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.
5 Yes, I'm secure beneath thy blood, And all my foes shall lose their aim, Hosanna to my dying God, And my best honours to his Name.