Father, I stretch my hand to thee;
No other help I know:
If thou withdraw thyself from me,
Ah! whither shall I go?

Cho. -- I do believe, I now believe
That Jesus died for me;
And thro' his blood, his precious blood,
I shall from sin be free.

2 What did thine only Son endure.
Before I drew my breath?
What pain, what labor, to secure
My soul from endless death!

3 O Jesus, could I this believe,
I now should feel thy power;
And all my wants thou would'st relieve,
In this accepted hour.

4 Author of faith! to thee I lift
My weary, longing eyes;
Oh, let me now receive that gift --
My soul without it dies.

5 Surely thou canst not let me die;
Oh, speak, and I shall live,
And here I will unwearied lie,
Till thou thy Spirit give.

6 How would my fainting soul rejoice,
Could I but see thy face;
Now let me hear thy quick'ning voice,
And taste thy pard'ning grace.

Charles Wesley