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1 My soul, the awful hour will come,
Apace it passeth on,
To bear this body to the tomb,
And thee to scenes unknown.
2 My heart, long lab'ring with its woes,
Shall pant and sink away;
And you, my eye-lids, soon shall close,
On the last glimm'ring ray.
3 Whence in that hour shall I receive
A cordial for my pain,
When, if earth's monarchs were my friends,
Those friends would weep in vain?
4 Great King of nature and of grace!
To thee my spirit flies,
And opens all its deep distress
Before thy pitying eyes.
5 All its desires to thee are known,
And ev'ry secret fear;
The meaning of each broken groan
Well notic'd by thine ear.
6 O fix me by that mighty pow'r,
Which to such love belongs,
Where darkness veils the eyes no more,
And groans are chang'd to songs.
| Text Information | |
|---|---|
| First Line: | My soul, the awful hour will come |
| Title: | God our help in Trouble |
| Meter: | C. M. |
| Language: | English |
| Publication Date: | 1845 |
| Topic: | Special Occasions: Sickness and Recovery |
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