Into thine hand, 0 God of truth,

My spirit I commit;

Thou hast redeem'd my soul from death,

And sav'd me from the pit.

The passions of my hope and fear

Maintain'd a doubtful strife,

While sorrow, pain, and sin conspir'd

To take away my life.

"My times are in thine hand," I cry'd,

"Tho' I draw near the dust ;"

Thou art the refuge where I hide,

The God in whom I trust.

O make thy reconciled face

Upon thy servant shine,

And save me for thy mercy's sake,

For I'm entirely thine.

['Twas in my haste, my spirit said,

"I must despair and die,

"I am cut off before thine eyes;"

But thou hast heard me cry.]

Thy goodness how divinely free!

How wondrous is thy grace

To those that fear thy majesty,

And trust thy promises!

O love the Lord, all ye his saints,

And sing his praises loud;

He'll bend his ear to your complaints,

And recompense the proud.