The roving lions, strong for spoil,
May faint with hungry pain:
But they who seek of God their good
Shall never seek in vain.
God hears His saints, and bears their souls
From trouble's angry waves:
His mercy heals the broken hearts,
The contrite spirit saves.
Full many a tide of darksome grief
The righteous may endure;
But in the Lord's redeeming might
His portion rests secure :
God's love his soul's frail dwelling-house
Shall keep with guardian care:
No maim shall wound it,—not one bone
Be bruised or broken there.
For God preserves His servants' souls:
No terror brooding round
Shall break the heart, whose constant trust
In God its strength hath found.
GREAT God, how precious is Thy care!
Both man and beast Thy pity share:
The trustful heart shall sing,
And find an inborn rest, more sweet
Than shadowing cloud in noontide heat,
Beneath Thy mercy's wing.
They, who Thy bounteous love have tried, With that free plenty satisfied,
Within Thy house shall dwell;
The gladness, where Thy pleasures flow,
Is more than thirsty travellers know,
Who taste the desert well.
For Thine is life's eternal spring:
Thou to the source of light wilt bring
The souls that wait on Thee:
O still Thy gifts of love renew;
The pure in heart, the good and true,
Let them Thy goodness see.
SPARE, Lord, nor break in wrath
A soul bow'd down in thrall,
Let not Thy hot displeasure's weight
On me in terror fall.
My sins above my head
Like rushing billows roll,
And with a load too great to bear
Press down my struggling soul.
Yet still my spirit's hope,
Just God, finds rest in Thee:
And humbled let me wait, for Thou
Lord, for me.
I own it, Lord, all due,
The sadness and the scorn;
For my transgressions past I ought
In heaviness to mourn.
Forsake me not, dear Lord:
O go not far from me;
For help, and strength, and saving health,
I look alone to Thee.
LORD, let me know my time and end,
Reveal the measure of my days,
That I may see to what they tend,
And how this fleeting life decays.
My years, by Thy appointment made,
Are like a hand-breadth, grasp'd and gone,
And hasten to that evening shade
When life and life's brief task is done.
Turn not away, but let Thy peace
Speak comfort to the tears I shed:
A little while, and I shall cease,
And lay me down in earth's cold bed.
A pilgrim, as my fathers were,
I wait my summons at the door :
A little strength in mercy spare,
Ere I depart, and am no more.
O LORD my God, how great and high
The wonders which Thine arm hath wrought!
How far remov'd from mortal eye
The secrets of Thy deep of thought!
I cannot speak their sum, or count
Thy mercies' number numberless;
All mortal reckoning they surmount,
All words that mortal lips express.
No offer'd gift or sacrifice
Didst Thou for sin of man desire,
No victim slain could pay that price,
No beast consum'd with altar-fire:
But Thou didst pierce my secret ear,
And mad'st me know Thy counsel's will;
Then said I, Lord, behold me here,
I come Thy purpose to fulfil.
As the loud-panting hart, that hastes
To gushing waters free:
So pants my eager soul, O God,
To find its rest with Thee.
For Thee, O God, my living Well,
My thirsty soul doth pine:
O when shall I behold Thy face,
And walk with Thee and Thine?
My pray'r to Thee shall still ascend
In all the ills I mourn:
My God, my Rock, O leave me not
To my oppressors' scorn.
O why cast down, my soul? O why
With sorrow's weight oppress'd?
Why thus in trouble's cheerless waste
An exile from thy rest?
Hope still in God: and thou shalt yet
His sure deliv'rance sing,
And praise the Fount of all Thy health,
Thy Saviour and Thy King.
THOU art alone my saving strength :
O leave me not forlorn,
Cast off in lonely heaviness
To feel the oppressor's scorn.
Send forth from heav'n Thy light and truth,
And let them guide me still,
Till where Thy presence dwells I rest,
High on Thy holy hill.
And I will press Thine altar near,
And harp and voice employ,
To tell Thy praise, O God, my God,
Thou gladness of my joy.
O why cast down, my soul? why faint
With sorrow's restless load?
Hope still in Him, my joy, my praise,
My Saviour and my God.
My heart is as a fount of song,
The words of praise break forth and spring, Like a quick writer's pen, my tongue Speeds its glad task to greet my King.
O fairer far than sons of earth,
The grace that on Thy lips doth rest Betokens One of heavenly birth,
Whom God's eternal love hath blest.
Gird, gird Thy sword upon Thy side
In token of dominion worn ;
Ride forth, in prosp'rous triumph ride;
Thy way shall meek-eyed Truth adorn.
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