Stuart Townend - O my soul arise and bless your maker

^DO ^AMy ^DSoul, ^GArise and ^Dbless your ^Ama^Dker, ^DFor ^GHe ^Dis your ^GMaster ^Dand your ^AFriend. ^ASlow to ^Dwrath but rich in tender ^Amercy; ^DWorship the Saviour, ^AJe^Dsus.

^DKing ^Aof ^Dgrace, His ^Glove is ^Dover^Awhel^Dming; ^DBread ^Gof ^DLife, He’s ^Gall I’ll ^Dever ^Aneed, ^AFor His ^Dblood has purchased me for^Aever: ^DBought at the cross of ^AJe^Dsus.

And ^GI will ^Dsing for all my ^Gdays Of ^Gheaven’s ^Dlove come ^Adown. Each ^Gbreath I ^Dtake will speak His ^Gpraise Un^Gtil He ^Dcalls me ^Ahome.

^DWhen ^AI ^Dwake, I ^Gknow that ^DHe is ^Awith ^Dme; ^DWhen ^GI’m ^Dweak, I ^Gknow that ^DHe is ^Astrong. ^AThough I ^Dfall, His arm is there to ^Alean on: ^DSafe on the Rock of ^AJe^Dsus.

^DStir ^Ain ^Dme the ^Gsongs that ^DYou are ^Asing^Ding; ^DFill ^Gmy ^Dgaze with ^Gthings as ^Dyet un^Aseen. ^AGive me ^Dfaith to move in works of ^Apower, ^DMaking me more like ^AJe^Dsus.

^DThen ^Aone ^Dday I’ll ^Gsee Him ^Das He ^Asees ^Dme, ^DFace ^Gto ^Dface, the ^GLover ^Dand the ^Aloved; ^ANo more ^Dwords, the longing will be ^Aover: ^DThere with my precious ^AJe^Dsus.