Lord we, through grace at thy command,
With faith and humble zeal,
Resign our spirits to thy hand,
To mould them to thy will.

We, at our Father's heav'nly word,
Who never did us wrong,
Give up our comforts to the Lord,
To whom they all belong.

He will restore what we resign,
Or grant, if not the same,
Some other blessings more divine,
To clear our higher claim.

At God's command thus Abra'm took
The wood, the fire, the knife,
And straight prepar'd the dreadful stroke
At fav'rite Isaac's life.

Abra'm, forbear, the angel cry'd,
Touch not thy darling son;
Thy faith is shewn, thy love is try'd,
The deed is held as done.

Thy son shall live, and in thy seed,
That shall of Isaac spring,
All nations shall be blest indeed;
And death shall lose its sing.

Just in the last distressing hour,
When quite we seem undone,
The Lord displays deliv'ring pow'r
And makes his mercy known.

The mount of danger is the place
Where God in pomp appears,
To shew us his surprising grace,
And dissipate our fears.