1 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 would’st take it, Lord, from me.

2 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.

3 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.