I have no comfort but thy love,
without it life is death to me,
joyless through all its joys I move,
hopeless through all its misery;
yet, trusting thee, I daily prove,
the blessed comfort of thy love.
Low is my heart, and high the tide
of troubles which doth round it rise,
and drear the prospect far and wide,
yet from it I can lift mine eyes,
and, resting them on thee, can prove
the blessed comfort of thy love.
Thou art the Rock on which I stand
when round me rages life's rough sea,
mine anchor, and my shelt'ring hand,
the haven where my soul would be;
daily I feel, and nightly prove
the blessed comfort of thy love.
O lift me higher, nearer thee,
and rise more pure and meet,
O let my soul's humility
make me lie lower at thy feet;
less trusting self, the more I prove
the blessed comfort of thy love.
For life is short thy will to do,
my loss repair, thy truth regain,
and years are fleeting fast, and few
the sands that in my glass remain;
I must be busy, would I prove
all the deep comfort of thy love.
Grateful my songs arise to thee
with morning's dawn, and evening's fall,
for thou hast ever been to me
my light, my life, mine all in all;
my day is night, if thou remove,
I have no comfort but thy love.
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