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, though prostrate in the dust.
Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face, and shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sov’reign grace be deaf when I complain?
No, still the ear of sov’reign grace attends the mourner’s prayer;
O 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.
Lyrics: Anne Steele (1716-1778), Public Domain;
Music: Matt Merker, © 2014
