1 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.

2 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 tho’t affords,
My Saviour died for me.

3 And when Thine awful voice commands
This body to decay,
And life, in its last ling’ring sands,
Is ebbing fast away;—
Then, tho’ it be in accents weak,
My voice shall call on Thee,
And ask for strength in death to speak,
“My Saviour died for me.”