A Still Small Voice

How oft' I'm made to doubt, and fear that grace shall leave me destitute That promise of the Savior is not made for man of my repute That when I come before the throne to answer for my heinous crimes I there be found unpardoned for those many dark and sinful times For Satan, my great enemy, that Serpent old in ages Father of each lying word, perverts the holy pages Through deceit, beguiling tongue, he robs the soul of peace He is sure to there be found where joyful praises cease Where doubts creep in to steal your faith, and fear to take your love With sleight of hand, the iron fist concealed in velvet glove A whispering thought into the mind, as subtle as can be Shall wrap a chain and shackle round the throat of liberty How oft' I'm made to doubt, and fear that Christ forsake my wretched soul That my true Friend blot out my name, forever, from His blessed scroll Yet thank the One true living God, Who sends to me His Word A still small voice that I perceive is spoken from the LORD Assuring me of victory, if I but trust and pray That He shall keep me in His hand, and there I'll ever stay