891. L. M. John Fawcett. |He holdeth our soul in life.|

1 O God, my helper, ever near!
Crown with thy smile the present year;
Preserve me by thy favor still,
And fit me for thy sacred will.

2 My safety, each succeeding hour,
Depends on thy supporting power:
Accept my thanks for mercies past,
And be my guard, while life shall last.

3 My moments move with winged haste,
Nor know I which shall be the last:
Danger and death are ever nigh,
And I this year perhaps may die.

4 Prepare me for the trying day;
Then call my willing soul away:
I'll quit the world at thy command,
And trust my spirit to thy hand.