The finger of God's hand we own;
The promise of the Father Thou,
Who dost the tongue with pow'r endow.
Our senses kindle from above,
And make our hearts o'erflow with love;
With patience firm and virtue high
The weakness of our flesh supply.
Drive far from us the foe we dread,
And grant us Thy true peace instead;
So shall we not, with Thee for guide,