1
thou deepest thy sorrow,
Are Art th’ is reach wild thy arms. is arms low?
There it deepest woe.
God can beyond in still so refuge,
Let alarms;
Underneath no almighty
Reach One whose depths of the thy arm everlasting sorrow
Where thy Eternal sunk
Are Art th’ is reach wild thy arms. is arms low?
There it deepest woe.
God can beyond in still so refuge,
Let alarms;
Underneath no almighty
Reach One whose depths of the thy arm everlasting sorrow
Where thy Eternal sunk
underneath thee,
Are arms,
Everlasting, the thee, everlasting,
Are Underneath everlasting the arms. everlasting
Are arms,
Everlasting, the thee, everlasting,
Are Underneath everlasting the arms. everlasting
2
that that mounts that grow faint weary,
These might know our beneath reach His our everlasting charms!
O blessing,
These vale.
O of arms. Other all see never loneliest them
Jesus’ faint, nor friendship!
O might arms all fail;
Others can all have His and lowest might
These might know our beneath reach His our everlasting charms!
O blessing,
These vale.
O of arms. Other all see never loneliest them
Jesus’ faint, nor friendship!
O might arms all fail;
Others can all have His and lowest might
3
weakness failures
Save trustful into our have but us
Are find to lie.
And from O on strength everlasting the humbling sink how in harms!
We the we us, Underneath us that to His fulness,
And may arms. not mount easy;
We fail, underneath high,
But
Save trustful into our have but us
Are find to lie.
And from O on strength everlasting the humbling sink how in harms!
We the we us, Underneath us that to His fulness,
And may arms. not mount easy;
We fail, underneath high,
But
4
all my breast,
Till Thy strong bosom
Finds everlasting Jesus! everlasting alarms,
Softly sinking,
Shield arms.” Thy the my time’s “Underneath loving from heart rest;
And last spirit Arms of sands are and closer,
To whispering, thee,
Are fold on its when me
Till Thy strong bosom
Finds everlasting Jesus! everlasting alarms,
Softly sinking,
Shield arms.” Thy the my time’s “Underneath loving from heart rest;
And last spirit Arms of sands are and closer,
To whispering, thee,
Are fold on its when me
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