Father, I am your own,
in you alone I live,
in you I move, in you I am,
I am all that you give;
dependent on your grace,
life hangs by mercy’s thread,
and if your loving kindness fail,
then I’m as good as dead.
Teach me to count my days,
to know my mortal frame;
to trust that Christ is all I need,
and love his precious name;
without you life is nought,
open my darkened eyes,
without your love I’m nothing worth,
without you all good dies.
The love of Christ compels
my ransomed soul to make
a gift of all to him who died
and rose up for my sake;
it is no longer I,
but Christ who lives in me;
the life I live is mine no more,
but Christ’s life shall it be.
In sure and certain hope
I rest to wake again,
I’ll rise as Christ is risen now
and freed from every chain;
for all who die in Christ
shall never truly die,
but death shall come as to a friend
to bring their glory by.
Sing to the tune of Diademata.
And Can It Be? 