Saints, at your heav'nly Father's word

Saints, at your heav'nly Father's word
Give up your comforts to the Lord;
He shall restore what you resign,
Or grant you blessings more divine.

So Abram with obedient hand
Led forth his son at God's command;
The wood, the fire, the kiufe, he took,
His arm prepared the dreadful stroke.

"Abram, forbear!" the angel cried,
Thy faith is known, thy love is tried
Thy son shall live, and in thy seed
Shall the whole earth be blest indeed."

Just in the last distressing hour
Tie Lord displays deliv'ring power;
The mount of dauger is the place
Where we shall see surprising grace.