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Lord of my life, to thee I call;
Afflicted, at thy feet I fall;
When the great trouble floods prevail,
Leave not my troubled heart to fail.
Friend of the friendless and the faint,
Where should I lodge my deep complaint?
Where, but with thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor?
Did ever mourner plead with thee,
And thou refuse that mourner's plea?
Does not the promise still remain,
That none shall seek thy face in vain?
Poor though I be, despised, forgot,
Yet Christ, my Lord, forgets me not;
His promises I daily plead,
And he supplies my ev'ry need.