Him wilt Thou keep in perfect peace,
Whose mind is stay'd on Thee;
Me, Lord, from pining care release,
And vain perplexity.

187
'Tis not the bleeding wounds of grief,
Whose anguish I bemoan;
An evil heart of unbelief,
A cold, hard heart of stone;--

O'er this, in loneliness, I wake,
And darkness to be felt,
Since Sinai's thunders cannot break,
Nor Calvary's sufferings melt.

Uncheer'd with hopes, unawed by fears,
All comfort banish'd hence,
O for a burst of contrite tears!
A pang of penitence!

O for one grain of saving faith,
Upspringing in my breast!
"Come unto Me," my Saviour saith,
"And I will give thee rest."

I hear, I know the joyful sound;
I fly that call to meet,
And find, what all who sought have found
Rest at His blessed feet.