John Brownlie (trans.) · 70 of 89

Thou art my portion, saith my soul

I "Thou art my portion," saith my soul, And I am rich in Thee; My God, there is no want I crave, But Thou suppliest to me.

II The labour of my hands may fail, My path be girt with care; But plenty crowns the heavenly board, And I am welcome there.

III Like mountain brooks in summer time, Earth's streams of bliss may fail; But joys perennial flow from Thee, When parching droughts prevail.

IV O, rich and full from God's right hand, Are joys eternal given; That stream of bliss can never fail That has its source in heaven.

V "Thou art my portion," saith my soul, I have no want denied, For from the bounties of Thy grace Are all my needs supplied.