GOD of my life, to Thee I call,

Friend of the friendless and the faint, Where should I lodge my deep complaint? Where, but with Thee, Whose open door Invites the helpless and the poor?

Did ever mourner plead with Thee, And Thou refuse that mourner’s plea? Does not Thy promise still remain, That none shall seek Thy face in vain?

That were a grief I could not bear, Didst Thou not hear and answer prayer; But a prayer-hearing, answering God Supports me under every load.

Bright is the lot that’s cast for me; I have an Advocate with Thee: They whom the worldling praises most, Have no such privilege to boast.

Poor though I am, despised, forgot, Yet God, my God, forgets me not. And he is safe, and must succeed, For whom God undertakes to plead.