Dear refuge of my weary soul,
On Thee, when sorrows rise,
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies.
To Thee I tell each rising grief,
For Thou alone canst heal;
Thy Word can bring a sweet relief
For every pain I feel.
But oh! When gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call Thee mine;
The springs of comfort seem to fail,
And all my hopes decline.
Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust;
And still my soul would cleave to Thee
Though prostrate in the dust.
Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face,
And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sov'reign grace
Be deaf when I complain?
No, still the ear of sov'reign grace
Attends the mourner's prayer;
O may I ever find access
To breathe my sorrows there.
Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat;
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet.
Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat;
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet.

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