Dear Refuge of Our Weary Soul
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, Thou prostrate in the dust.
Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face, And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of Sovereign grace, Be deaf when I complain?
No still the ear of Sovereign grace, Attends the mourner’s prayer.
Oh 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.
- by Anne Steele
