"Yes, true as the snow blows without,
And winds whistle keen through the air,
His grace can remove every doubt,
And chase the black gloom of despair:
It often supports my weak mind,
And wipes the salt tear from my eye,
It tells me that Jesus is kind,
And died for such sinners as I.

"I once rolled in wealth, without grace,
But happiness ne'er was my lot,
Till Christ freely pitied my case,
And now I am blest in a cot:
Well knowing things earthly are vain,
Their troubles ne'er puzzle my head;
Convinced that to die will be gain,
I look on the grave as my bed.

"I look on the grave as my bed,
Where I'll sleep the swift hours away,
Till waked from their slumbers, the dead
Shall rise, never more to decay:
Then I, with my children and wife,
Shall get a bright palace above,
And endlessly clothed with life,
Shall dwell in the Eden of love.

"Then know, gentle stranger, though poor,
We're cheerful, contented, and blest;