1 Father, I stretch my hands to Thee,
No other help I know;
If Thou withdraw Thyself from me,
Ah! whither shall I go?

2 What did Thine only Son endure,
Before I drew my breath!
What pain, what labor, to secure
My soul from endless death!

3 O Jesus, could I this believe,
I now should feel Thy power!
Now my poor soul Thou would'st retrieve,
Nor let me wait one hour.

4 Author of Faith, to Thee I lift
My weary longing eyes:
O let me now receive that gift,
My soul without it dies!

5 Surely Thou canst not let me die;
O speak and I should live;
And here I will unwearied lie,
Till Thou Thy spirit give.

6 The worst of sinners would rejoice,
Could they but see Thy face;
O let me hear Thy quick'ning voice
And taste Thy pard'ning grace.