The sin­ners how blest,
Who par­don re­ceive!
In trou­ble we rest,
In dy­ing we live,
In dan­ger se­cure,
Whom Je­sus hath loved,
Our foot­ing is sure,
Though earth is re­moved.

The hairs of our head,
Are re­gis­tered all,
Not one, He hath said,
Shall per­ish, or fall,
Without the per­mis­sion
Of in­fi­nite grace,
Whose bless­èd de­ci­sion
We glad­ly em­brace.

While thus we con­fide
In Je­sus’ blood,
Whatever be­tide,
Shall turn to our good,
When sor­rows sur­round us,
Our joys shall in­crease,
And earth­quakes shall ground us
In per­ma­nent peace.

Plague, fa­mine, and war
But quick­en our hope,
And bid us pre­pare,
And bid us look up;
Assured by each warn­ing,
His king­dom is near,
The Lord is re­turn­ing,
And soon shall ap­pear.

Appear in the skies,
Thou Sav­ior of men,
Our bo­dies shall rise
To meet Thee again,
Entombed in the cen­ter,
We shall be re­stored,
And glo­ri­ous­ly en­ter
The joy of our Lord.