If God is mine, then pre­sent things,
And things to come, are mine;
Yea, Christ, His Word, and Spir­it, too,
And glo­ry all di­vine.

If He is mine, then from His love,
He ev­ery trou­ble sends;
All things are work­ing for my good,
And bliss His rod at­tends.

If He is mine, I need not fear
The rage of earth and hell;
He will sup­port my fee­ble frame,
Their ut­most force re­pel.

If He is mine, let friends fo­rsake,
Let wealth and hon­ors flee—
Sure He, who giv­eth me Him­self,
Is more than these to me.

If He is mine, I’ll bold­ly pass
Through death’s tre­men­dous vale;
He is a so­lid com­fort when
All oth­er com­forts fail.

O, tell me, Lord! that Thou art mine;
What can I wish be­side?
My soul shall at the fount­ain live,
When all the streams are dried.