1 O, that I had a bosom friend,
To tell my secrets to!
On whose advice I might depend
In every thing I do.
2 How do I wander up and down,
And no one pities me;
I seem a stranger quite unknown,
A son of misery.
3 None lends an ear to my complaint,
Nor minds my cries or tears;
None comes to help me, though I faint,
Nor my vast burden bears.
4 While others live in mirth and ease,
And feel no want or woe;
Through this dark, howling wilderness,
I full of sorrow go.
5 O, faithless soul, to reason thus,
And murmur without end;
Did Christ expire upon the cross?
And is not he thy friend?
6 Why dost thou envy carnal men!
And think their state so blest?
How great salvation hast thou seen?
And Jesus is thy rest.
7 What can this lower world afford
Compared with gospel grace?
Thy happiness is in the Lord,
And thou shalt see his face.
8 Can present grief be counted great
Compared with future woes?
Will transient pleasures seem so sweet
Compared with endless joys?
9 How soon will God withdraw the scene,
And burn the world he made?
Then woe to carnal careless men;
My soul lift up thy head.
10 The Savior is thy real friend,
Constant, and true, and good:
he will be with thee to the end,
And bring thee safe to God.
11 Why O my soul, art thou so sad?
When will thy sighs be o'er?
Rejoice in Jesus, and be glad
Rejoice for evermore.
The Christian's duty, exhibited in a series of hymns, 1791