Thee will I love, O Lord, my strength,
My rock, my tow­er, my high de­fense;
Thy migh­ty arm shall be my trust,
For I have found sal­va­tion thence.

Death, and the ter­rors of the grave,
Stood round me with their dis­mal shade;
While floods of high temp­ta­tions rose,
And made my sink­ing soul afraid.

I saw the op­en­ing gates of hell,
With end­less pains and sor­rows there,
Which none but they that feel can tell;
While I was hur­ried to des­pair.

In my dis­tress I called my God,
When I could scarce be­lieve Him mine:
He bowed His ear to my com­plaint,
Then did His grace ap­pear di­vine.

With speed He flew to my re­lief,
As on a che­rub’s wing He rode;
Awful and bright as light­ning shone
The face of my de­liv­er­er God.

Temptations fled at His re­buke,
The blast of His al­migh­ty breath;
He sent sal­va­tion from on high,
And drew me from the deeps of death.

Great were my fears, my foes were great,
Much was their strength, and more their rage;
But Christ, my Lord, is con­quer­or still,
In all the wars that de­vils wage.

My song for ev­er shall record
That ter­ri­ble, that joy­ful hour;
And give the glo­ry to the Lord,
Due to His mer­cy and His pow­er.