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.