166    L.M.     Isaac Watts
Salvation in the Cross. Isa. 12. 2, 3; 1 Cor. 2. 2

1 Here at thy cross, my dying God,
  I lay my soul beneath thy love,
  Beneath the droppings of thy blood,
  Jesus, nor shall it e’er remove.

2 Not all that tyrants think or say,
  With rage and lightning in their eyes,
  Nor hell shall fright my heart away,
  Should hell with all its legions rise.

3 Should worlds conspire to drive me thence,
  Moveless and firm this heart shall lie;
  Resolved (for that’s my last defence),
  If I must perish, there to die.

4 But speak, my Lord, and calm my fear;
  Am I not safe beneath thy shade?
  Thy vengeance will not strike me here,
  Nor Satan dares my soul invade.

5 Yes, I’m secure beneath thy blood,
  And all my foes shall lose their aim;
  Hosannah to my dying God,
  And my best honours to his name!