THOU ART MY HIDING-PLACE, O LORD

Thou art my hiding place, O Lord,
In thee I put my trust;
Encouraged by thy holy Word,
A feeble child of dust:
I have no argument beside,
I urge no other plea;
And 'tis enough my Saviour died,
My Saviour died for me.

When storms of fierce temptation beat,
And furious foes assail,
My refuge is the mercy-seat,
My hope within the veil.
From strife of tongues and bitter words
My spirit flies to thee:
Joy to my heart the thought affords,
My Saviour died for me.

'Mid trials heavy to be borne,
When mortal strength is vain,
A heart with grief and anguish torn,
A body racked with pain,
Ah! what could give the suff'rer rest,
Bid ev'ry murmur flee,
But this, the witness in my breast
That Jesus died for me.

And when thine awful voice commands
This body to decay,
And life, in its last lingering sands,
Is ebbing fast away,
Then, though it be in accents weak,
And faint and tremblingly,
O give me strength in death to speak,
My Saviour died for me.