Unto thine hand, O God of truth,

My spirit I commit;

Thou hast redeemed my soul from death,

And saved me from the pit.

The passions of my hope and fear

Maintained a doubtful strife,

While sorrow, pain, and sin conspired

To take away my life.

"My times are in thine hand," I cried,

"Though I draw near the dust;

Thou art the refuge where I hide,

The God in whom I trust.

O make thy reconciled face

Upon thy servant shine,

And save me for thy mercy's sake,

For I'm entirely thine.

['Twas in my haste my spirit said,

"I must despair and die,

I am cut off before thine eyes;

But thou hast heard my cry.]

Thy goodness how divinely free!

How wondrous is thy grace

To those that fear thy majesty,

And trust thy promises!

O love the Lord, all ye his saints,

And sing his praises loud;

He'll bend his ear to your complaints,

And recompense the proud.