Father Of All My Soul Defend

Father of all! my soul defend:
On thee my steadfast hopes depend.
Thee let me bless, the faithful guide,
Whose counsels o’er my life preside.

Though to the grave I must descend,
(For thus has heav’n’s high will ordain’d)
Yet hope e’en there, my constant guest,
Shall smooth the pillow of my rest.

Though death awhile reign o’er my frame,
Thou from the grave my life wilt claim;
And, to my eyes, in full survey,
The op’ning paths of life display:

Those paths that to thy presence bear;
For plentitude of bliss is there;
And pleasure’s streams, unmix’d with woe,
At thy right hand for ever flow.