GOD counts the sorrows of His saints, Attends to all their prayers; Tenderly follows our complaints, And still records our tears.
When to Thy throne I raise my cry, Then devils fear and flee, So swift is prayer to reach the sky, So near is God to me.
In Thee, most holy, just and true, I have reposed my trust; Nor will I fear what man can do, Mere offspring of the dust.
As Thou hast vowed to bless me, Lord, To Thee I’ll yield my praise; How good, how faithful is Thy Word; How kind are all Thy ways.
Thou hast secured my soul from death; Now free from sin I’d be, That heart and hand, and life and breath, May be employed for Thee.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748