Thou art my hiding-place, O Lord,

In thee I fix my trust,

Encouraged by thy holy word,

A feeble child of dust.

2 I have no argument beside,

I urge no other plea,

And ’tis enough—the Saviour died,

The Saviour died for me.

3 When storms of fierce temptation beat,

And furious foes assail,

My refuge is the mercy-seat,

My hope within the vail.

4 From strife of tongues and bitter words,

My spirit flies to thee;

Joy to my heart the thought affords—

My Saviour died for me.

5 And when thy awful voice commands

This body to decay,

And life, in its last lingering sands,

Is ebbing fast away—

6 Then, though it be in accents weak,

My voice shall call on thee,

And ask for strength in death to speak—

“My Saviour died for me.”