‘Tis joy enough, my all in all,
At thy dear feet to lie.
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly.

Oh, Lord, the sorrows I endure,
Are great beyond control.
No other hand but thine can cure
The anguish of my soul.

Thou wilt display that sov’reign grace,
Whence all my comforts spring.
I shall employ my lips in praise,
And thy salvation sing.

Recordings 1, 2, 3, 4