Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul

Anne Steele

 

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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