In ho­li­ness bril­liant, in right­eous­ness bright,
Yet sweet in com­pas­sion with touch soft and light,
My Fa­ther in ra­vish­ing love now draws nigh,
To cher­ish my soul as the gem of His eye.

His co­ve­nant pro­mise, His migh­ty right arm,
Embrace me se­cure­ly and keep me from harm.
His faith­ful, long­suf­fer­ing, in­fi­nite grace
Will bring me home safe, where He’ll show me His face.

Till then, my days pass in the palm of His hand;
His Word whis­pers com­fort in ev­ery com­mand.
His pro­mise sus­tains me; my tri­umph is won:
My man­sion is bought with the blood of His Son.

The work of His Spi­rit goes on in my heart,
Restoring His image with­in by His art,
His work­man­ship God­like, His skill so di­vine,
His voice speaks with­in me: Be still, and be Mine.

Though dark be the val­ley, though steep be the hill,
My com­fort, my re­fuge, is my Fa­ther’s will!
His sweet, soft com­pas­sion will fit me aright
For ho­li­ness bril­liant and right­eous­ness bright.