Isaac Watts · 516 of 724

Hymn 8

Hosannah, with a cheerful sound, To God's upholding hand; Ten thousand snares attend us round, And yet secure we stand.

That was a most amazing power That raised us with a word, And every day and every hour We lean upon the Lord.

The evening rests our weary head, And angels guard the room; We wake, and we admire the bed That was not made our tomb.

The rising morning can't assure That we shall end the day; For death stands ready at the door To seize our lives away.

Our breath is forfeited by sin To God's avenging law; We own thy grace, immortal King, In every gasp we draw.

God is our sun, whose daily light Our joy and safety brings; Our feeble flesh lies safe at night Beneath his shady wings.