Dear refuge of my weary soul, on Thee when sorrows rise;
On thee, when waves of trouble roll, my fainting hope relies.
And, though—when gloomy doubts prevail—I fear to call thee mine;
The springs of comfort seem to fail and all my hopes decline.
To thee I tell each rising grief, for Thou alone can heal;
Thy word dost bring a sweet relief, for every pain I feel.
Thy word dost bring a sweet relief, for every pain I feel.
Gracious God, why would I flee?
Words of life come forth from thee
Grace in hand, Thine only Son,
Lifts my head and bids me come
Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face? And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sovereign grace be deaf when I complain?
No, still the ear of sovereign grace attends the mourner's prayer;
O may I ever find access, to breathe my sorrows there.
O may I ever find access, to breathe my sorrows there.
Gracious God, why would I flee?
Words of life come forth from thee
Grace in hand, Thine only Son,
Lifts my head and bids me come
Gracious God, why would I flee?
Words of life come forth from thee
Grace in hand, Thine only Son,
Lifts my head and bids me come

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