Hymn CCXLV. Common Metre. God our Refuge in Trouble

Thou 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 promises can bring relief, For every pain I feel.

But when these 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 rise 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?

Thy mercy seat is open still, There shall my soul retreat; With humble hope attend thee still, And wait beneath thy feet.