1 Save me, O Lord, from every foe; In thee my trust I place, Tho' all the good that I can do Can ne'er deserve thy grace.
2 Yet if my God prolong my breath The saints may profit by't; The saints, the glory of the earth, The men of my delight.
3 Let heathens to their idols haste, And worship wood or stone; But my delightful lot is cast Where the true God is known.
4 His hand provides my constant food, He fills my daily cup; Much am I pleas'd with present good, But more rejoice in hope.
5 God is my portion and my joy, His counsels are my light; He gives me sweet advice by day, And gentle hints by night.
6 My soul would all her thoughts approve To his all-seeing eye; Not death, nor hell my hope shall move, While such a friend is nigh.