By the thoughtless world derided,
Still I love the Word of God;
’Tis a chart by which I’m guided,
Often ’tis a chastening rod;
’Tis a sword that cuts asunder
All my pride and vanity
When abased I lie and wonder
That He spares a wretch like me.

This confirms me when I waver,
Sets my trembling judg­ment right,
When I stray, how much soever,
This is my restoring light;
Satan oft and sin assail me,
With temptations ever new;
Then, O nothing can avail me,
’Till my bleeding Lord I view.

Faith I need, O Lord, bestow it,
Give my laboring mind relief;
Oft alas! I doubt, I know it,
Help, O help my unbelief;
Dearest Sav­ior, by Thy Spi­rit
May I gain a future crown;
Guide, O guide me by Thy Spi­rit,
Till these storms are overblown.