A Pocket hymn book, designed as a constant companion for the pious ‎#XXXIII

XXXIII. To the haven of thy breast

1 To the haven of thy breast,
O Son of Man, I fly,
Be my refuge and my rest,
For O the storm is high!
Save me from the furious blast
A covert from the tempest be;
Hide me, Jesus, till o'erpast
The storm of sin I see.

2 Welcome as the water-spring
To a dry barren place;
O descend on me and bring
The sweet-refreshing grace;
O'er a parch'd and weary land,
As a great rock extends its shade,
Hide me, Saviour, with thine hand,
And screen my naked head.

3 In the time of my distress
Thou hast my succour been,
In my utter helplessness
Restraining me from sin;
O how swiftly didst thou move
To save me in the trying hour!
Still protect me with thy love,
And shield me with thy pow'r.

4 First and last in me perform
The work thou hast begun;
Be my shelter from the storm,
My shadow from the sun:
Let me hang upon my God,
Till I thy perfect glory see,
Till the sprinkling of thy blood
Shall speak me up to thee.

Text Information

• First Line: To the haven of thy breast
• Language: English
• Publication Date: 1788
• Topic: Penitential
• Notes: Public Domain.

Tune Information

(No tune information)