Hear, O Lord, our supplication;
Let our souls on Thee repose!
Be our refuge, our salvation,
’Mid ten thousand threatening foes.
Lord, Thy saints have many troubles,
In their path lies many a snare:
But before Thy breath like bubbles,
Melt they soon in idle air.
Cunning are the foe’s devices,
Bitter are his words of gall;
Sin on every side entices;
Lord, conduct us safe through all.
Be our foes by Thee confounded,
Let the world Thy goodness see,
While, by might and love surrounded,
We rejoice, and trust in Thee.
Henry F. Lyte
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