Jesus, Lover of my soul, let me to thy bosom fly, while the nearer waters roll, while the tempest still is high: hide me, O my Savior, hide, till the storm of life is past; safe into the haven guide, oh, receive my soul at last!

Other refuge have I none, hangs my helpless soul on thee; leave, ah! leave me not alone, still support and comfort me! All my trust on thee is stayed, all my help from thee I bring; cover my defenseless head with the shadow of thy wing.

Thou, O Christ, art all I want; more than all in thee I find: raise the fallen, cheer the faint, heal the sick, and lead the blind. Just and holy is thy name; I am all unrighteousness; false and full of sin I am, thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with thee is found, grace to cover all my sin; let the healing streams abound; make and keep me pure within: thou of life the Fountain art, freely let me take of thee; spring thou up within my heart, rise to all eternity.

Words:Charles Wesley, 1740