Ye Sons of Men, a Feeble Race (EN 1417)

EN 1417 Ye Sons of Men, a Feeble Race

Ps.91.9

Versi Version 1

1

Ye sons of men, a feeble race,

Exposed to every snare,

Come, make the Lord your dwelling place,

And try and trust His care.

2

No ill shall enter where you dwell;

Or if the plague come nigh,

And sweep the wicked down to hell,

’Twill raise His saints on high.

3

He’ll give His angels charge to keep

Your feet in all their ways;

To watch your pillow while you sleep,

And guard your happy days.

4

Their hands shall bear you, lest you fall

And dash against the stones:

Are they not servants at His call,

And sent t’attend His sons?

5

Adders and lions ye shall tread;

The tempter’s wiles defeat;

He that hath broke the serpent’s head

Puts him beneath your feet.

6

“Because on Me they set their love,

I’ll save them,” saith the Lord;

“I’ll bear their joyful souls above

Destruction and the sword.

7

“My grace shall answer when they call,

In trouble I’ll be nigh;

My power shall help them when they fall,

And raise them when they die.

8

“They that on earth My Name have known

I’ll honor them in Heav’n;

There My salvation shall be shown,

And endless live be giv’n.”

OK

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