Poor fearful saint, be not dismayed,

Poor fearful saint, be not dismayed,
Nor dread the dangers of the night;
Thy God will ever be thy aid,
And put the hosts of hell to flight.

Nor sin, nor Satan, can o'ercome
The arm that vindicates thy cause;
God, thy own God, will lead thee home,
In spite of all that may oppose.

Should hosts within, and hosts without,
At once unite to make thee yield,
Thy God shall put them all to rout,
And make thee master of the field.

In every sore and deep distress,
"I am thy God" shall be thy stay;
Thy God shall all thy woes redress,
And drive thy guilty fears away.

This soul-supporting truth contains
All blessings that a God can give;
In sorrows, sicknesses, or pains,
Thy God will every need relieve.