Sovereign of life, I own Thy hand
In ev­ery chast­en­ing stroke;
And, while I smart be­neath Thy rod
Thy pre­sence I in­voke.

To Thee in my dis­tress I cried,
And Thou hast bowed Thine ear,
Thy pow­er­ful Word my life pro­longed
And brought sal­va­tion near.

Unfold, ye gates of right­eous­ness,
That, with the pi­ous throng,
I may re­cord my so­lemn vows,
And tune my grate­ful song.

Praise to the Lord, whose gen­tle hand
Renews our la­bor­ing breath:
Praise to the Lord, who makes His saints
Triumphant e’en in death.

My God, in Thine ap­point­ed hour
Those heav’n­ly gates dis­play,
Where pain, and sin, and fear, and death
For ev­er flee away.

There, while the na­tions of the blessed
With rap­tures bow around,
My an­thems to de­liv­er­ing grace
In sweet­er strains shall sound.