1 Preserve me, Lord, in time of need For succour to thy throne I flee, But have no merits there to plead; My goodness cannot reach to thee.
2 Oft have my heart and tongue confest How empty and how poor I am; My praise can never make thee blest, Nor add new glories to thy name.
3 Yet, Lord, thy saints on earth may reap Some profit by the good we do; These are the company I keep, These are the choicest friends I know.
4 Let others choose the sons of mirth To give a relish to their wine, I love the men of heavenly birth, Whose thoughts and language are divine.