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.