My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness; I dare not trust the sweetest frame, but wholly lean on Jesus' name.

On Christ, the solid Rock, I stand; all other ground is sinking sand; all other ground is sinking sand.

When darkness veils his lovely face, I rest on his unchanging grace; in ev'ry high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the vale.

His oath, his covenant, his blood support me in the whelming flood; when all around my soul gives way, he then is all my hope and stay.

When he shall come with trumpet sound, oh, may I then in him be found, dressed in his righteousness alone, faultless to stand before the throne.

Words: Edward Mote, 1824; rev. John Rees, 1826, alt.