I will not be weary, tho' trials may come,
And troubles before me I see,
But count them as nothing compared with the love
Of Jesus, my Saviour, to me.
I'll sing of His love, of His wonderful love,
Tho' billows like mountains may roll;
I fear not the tempest, I dread not the storm,
For Jesus gives joy to my soul.
I cannot be weary when He is my rest;
Whate'er my temptations may be,
I'll trust in His promise because He has said:
"My grace is sufficient for thee."
I'll sing of His love, of His wonderful love,
Tho' billows like mountains may roll;
I fear not the tempest, I dread not the storm,
For Jesus gives joy to my soul.
There's joy that no language or thought can express,
It comes from His presence divine;
And when in His likeness at last I awake,
Its fullness I know will be mine!
I'll sing of His love, of His wonderful love,
Tho' billows like mountains may roll;
I fear not the tempest, I dread not the storm,
For Jesus gives joy to my soul.
