by John Newton

“ Incarnate God! the soul that knows Thy name's mysterious power Shall dwell in undisturbed repose, Nor fear the trying hour. Thy wisdom, faithfulness and love, To feeble helpless worms; A buckler and a refuge prove, From enemies and storms. In vain the fowler spreads his net, To draw them from thy care; Thy timely call instructs their feet, To shun the artful snare. When like a baneful pestilence, Sin mows its thousands down On every side, without defence, Thy grace secures thine own. No midnight terrors haunt their bed, No arrow wounds by day ”

“ To cheer the spirit when it faints, And guard the life from harms. The angels' Lord, himself is nigh, To them that love his name; Ready to save them when they cry, And put their foes to shame. Crosses and changes are their lot, Long as they sojourn here ”