If ever it could come to pass, That sheep of Christ might fall away, My fickle, feeble soul, alas ! Would fall a thousand times a day; Were not thy love as firm as free, Thou soon wouldst take it, Lord, from me. I on thy promises depend; At least I to depend desire; That thou wilt love me to the end, Be with me in temptation's fire; Wilt for me work, and in me too, And guide me right and bring me through. No other stay have I beside; If these can alter, I must fall; I look to thee to be supplied With life, with will, with power, with all. Rich souls may glory in their store, But Jesus will relieve the poor.
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