Father, I Stretch My Hands To Thee

Father, I stretch my hands to Thee,

No other help I know;

If Thou withdraw Thyself from me,

Ah! whither shall I go?

What did Thine only Son endure,

Before I drew my breath!

What pain, what labor, to secure

My soul from endless death!

O Jesus, could I this believe,

I now should feel Thy power;

Now my poor soul Thou wouldst retrieve,

Nor let me wait one hour.

Surely Thou canst not let me die;

O speak, and I shall live;

And here I will unwearied lie,

Till Thou Thy Spirit give.

Author of faith! to Thee I lift

My weary, longing eyes:

O let me now receive that gift!

My soul without it dies.

The worst of sinners would rejoice,

Could they but see Thy face:

O, let me hear Thy quickening voice,

And taste Thy pardoning grace.