1 Father, I stretch my hands to Thee,
No other help I know;
If Thou withdraw Thyself from me,
Ah, whither shall I go?

2 What did Thy only Son endure,
Before I drew my breath!
What pain, what labor to secure
My soul from endless death!

3 O Jesus, could I this believe,
I now should feel Thy pow'r;
Now my poor soul Thou wouldst retrieve,
Nor let me wait one hour.

4 Author of faith, to Thee I lift
My weary, longing eyes;
O may I now receive that gift,
My soul without it dies.