If God be on my side,
Then let who will op­pose,
For oft ere now to Him I cried,
And He hath quelled my foes.
If Je­sus be my friend,
If God doth love me well,
What mat­ters all my foes in­tend,
Though strong they be and fell.

Here I can firm­ly rest,
I dare to boast of this,
That God, the High­est and the Best,
My friend and Fa­ther is.
From dan­ger­ous snares He saves,
Where’er He bids me go
He checks the storms and calms the waves,
Nor lets aught work me woe.

I rest up­on the ground
Of Je­sus and His blood,
For ’tis through Him that I have found
The true eter­nal good.
Naught have I of mine own,
Naught in the life I lead,
What Christ hath giv’n me, that alone
Is worth all love in­deed.

His Spir­it in me dwells,
O’er all my mind He reigns,
All care and sad­ness He dis­pels,
And soothes away all pains.
He prospers day by day
His work with­in my heart,
Till I have strength and faith to say,
Thou God my Father art!

When weak­ness on me lies
And tempts me to des­pair,
He speak­eth words and ut­ters sighs
Of more than mor­tal pray­er;
But what no tongue can tell,
Thou God canst hear and see,
Who read­est in the heart full well
If aught there pleas­eth Thee.

He whis­pers in my breast
Sweet words of ho­ly cheer,
How he who seeks in God his rest
Shall ev­er find Him near;
How God hath built ab­ove
A city fair and new,
Where eye and heart shall see and prove
What faith has count­ed true.

There is pre­pared on high
My her­it­age, my lot;
Though here on earth I fall and die,
My heav’n shall fail me not.
Though here my days are dark,
And oft my tears must rain,
Whene’er my Sav­ior’s light I mark,
All things grow bright again.

Who joins him to that Lord
Whom Sa­tan flies and hates,
Shall find him­self des­pised, ab­horred,
For him the bur­den waits
Of mock­ery and shame,
Heaped on his guilt­less head;
And cross­es, tri­als, cru­el blame,
Shall be his dai­ly bread.

I knew it long ere now,
Yet am I not afraid;
The God to whom I pledged my vow,
Will sure­ly send His aid.
At cost of all I have,
At cost of life and limb,
I cling to God who yet shall save,
I will not turn from Him.

The world may fail and flee,
Thou stand­est fa­st for e’er,
Not fire, or sword, or plague from Thee
My trus­ting soul shall se­ver.
No hung­er, and no thirst,
No po­ver­ty or pain,
Let migh­ty princ­es do their worst,
Shall fright me back again.

No joys that an­gels know,
No throne or wide-spread fame,
No love or loss, no fear or woe,
No grief of heart or shame—
Man can­not aught con­ceive
Of plea­sure or of harm,
That e’er could tempt my soul to leave
Her re­fuge in Thine arm.

My heart for glad­ness springs,
It can­not more be sad,
For ve­ry joy it laughs and sings,
Sees naught but sun­shine glad.
The sun that glads mine eyes
Is Christ the Lord I love,
I sing for joy of that which lies
Stored up for us ab­ove.