Since on Thine arm Thou bidst me lean,
Help me throughout life’s varying scene
By faith to cling to Thee.
Blest with this fellowship divine,
Take what Thou wilt, I’ll ne’er repine;
E’en as the branches to the vine,
My soul would cling to Thee.
Far from her home, fatigued, oppressed,
Here she has found her place of rest;
An exile still, yet not unblessed,
While she can cling to Thee.
Without a murmur I dismiss
My former dreams of earthly bliss;
My joy, my consolation this,
Each hour to cling to Thee.
What though the world unfaithful prove,
And earthly friends and joys remove;
With sure and certain hope of love,
Still would I cling to Thee.
Oft when I seem to tread alone
Some barren waste, with thorns o’ergrown,
Thy voice of love, in gentle tone,
Whispers “Still cling to Me.”
Though faith and hope may oft be tried,
I ask not, need not aught beside;
How safe, how calm, how satisfied,
The soul that clings to Thee!
They fear not satan, nor the grave—
They feel Thee near and strong to save;
Nor dread to cross e’en Jordan’s wave,
Because they cling to Thee.
Blessed is my lot, whate’er may befall;
What can disturb me, who appall,
While as my Strength, my Rock, my All,
Savior, I cling to Thee? —Charlotte Elliott