Poem by Isaac Watts

Hymn 4

Salvation in the cross.

Here at thy cross, my dying God,
I lay my soul beneath thy love,
Beneath the droppings of thy blood,
Jesus, nor shall it e'er remove.

Not all that tyrants think or say,
With rage and lightning in their eyes,
Nor hell shall fright my heart away,
Should hell with all its legions rise.

Should worlds conspire to drive me thence,
Moveless and firm this heart should lie;
Resolved, (for that's my last defence,)
If I must perish, there to die.

But speak, my Lord, and calm my fear;
Am I not safe beneath thy shade?
Thy vengeance will not strike me here,
Nor Satan dares my soul invade.

Yes, I'm secure beneath thy blood,
And all my foes shall lose their aim:
Hosannah to my dying God,
And my best honors to his name. 

1. How Precious, Lord, Thy Sacred Word
2. Hymn 18
3. Examples of Early Piety
4. Hymn 100
5. Hymn 102

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