O Lord, how does Thy mercy throw
Its guardian shadow o'er us,
Preserving while we're here below,
Safe to the rest before us!
As weaker than a bruisèd reed,
We cannot do without Thee;
We want Thee here each hour of need,
Shall want Thee, too, in glory.
And though our efforts now to praise
Are often cold and lowly,
A nobler, sweeter song we'll raise,
With all Thy saints, in glory.
We'll lay our trophies at Thy feet,
We'll worship and adore Thee,
Whose precious blood has made us meet
To dwell with Thee in glory.