Ye Sons of Men, a Feeble Race

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Lyrics from A Collection of Sacred Hymns for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Europe, 1840

Hymn 115
1. Ye sons of men, a feeble race,
Exposed to every snare;
Come make the Lord your dwelling-place,
And try and trust his care.

2. No ill shall enter where you dwell;
Or if the plague come nigh,
And sweep the wicked down to hell,
'Twill raise the saints on high.

3. He'll give his angels charge to keep
Your feet in all your ways;
To watch your pillows while you sleep,
And guard your happy days.

4. Their hands shall bear you lest you fall,
And dash against the stones;
Are they not servants at his call,
And sent to attend his sons?

5. "Because on me they set their love,
I'll save them (saith the Lord;)
I'll bear their joyful souls above
Destruction and the sword!

6. My grace shall answer when they call,
In trouble I'll be nigh:
My power shall help them when they fall,
And raise them when they die.