“Though he slay me, yet will I hope in him.” Job 13:15 (NIV)
In this quiet hour, I will rise, O God.
In light of all that has been devoured,
I will still give you thanks, O Lord.
In the face of coming plague,
though dread draws close enough
that I can hear its tread,
I will yet give you praise.
For whatever days remain,
though I falter and even thought might fail,
your forgiveness flows without ceasing
and your power increases in my weakness.
Though trouble rises like the flood,
and calamity rides in the wind,
your faithfulness is sure
and your love never ends.
Though the wind stirs ashes
and flickers the dying embers,
I will remember that your righteousness
is not reflected in the magnitude of my blessing,
but in depth of my obedience.
Even though I should perish
and the whole world with me,
yet you will save my soul and keep me whole
even in the midst of my affliction.
Though fever should burn in me
like fire in dry grass,
though my breath be too weak
to pass my lips,
though my strength be gone
and even my heart fail within me,
Though this body be overwhelmed
and all of this world pass from me,
yet I know that my soul will live forever
and I will dwell in the presence
of Him Who Made Me.