Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul

Dear re­fuge of my wea­ry soul

On Thee

when sor­rows rise;

On Thee

when waves of trou­ble roll

My faint­ing hope re­lies.

While hope re­vives

though pressed with fear

And I can say

My God

Beneath Thy feet I spread my cares

And pour my woes abroad.

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 sov­er­eign grace

Be deaf when I com­plain?

No

still the ear of sov­er­eign grace

Attends the mourn­er’s pray­er;

O ac­cess may I ev­er find

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.