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1 When clouds hang darkly o'er my way And earthly comfort dies, On thee my Saviour and my God, My every hope relies. I hear thy spirits gentle voice, Thy cross by faith I see,-- Thy precious blood, O dying Lamb, Redeems and makes me what I am, For thou has died for me, For thou has died for me. 2 My soul, confiding in thy word, Can rest securely there, And feel at peace in every storm, Beneath thy watchful care; A sinner lost, but saved by grace Be this my only plea; Thy precious blood, O dying Lamb, Redeems and makes me what I am, For thou hast died for me. 3 O when I leave this mortal scene, And rise to worlds of light; Then shall I see thee as thou art Arrayed in glory bright; There by the living stream divine, My raptured song shall be; Thy precious blood, O dying Lamb, Redeems and makes me what I am, For thou hast died for me.
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