Hymn 203. God the Only Refuge of the Troubled Mind

Dear refuge of my weary soul,

On thee, when sorrows rise:

On thee, when waves of trouble roll,

My fainting hope relies.

While hope revives, though prest with fears,

And I can say, my God,

Beneath thy feet I spread my cares,

And pour my woes abroad.

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 sovereign grace

Be deaf when I complain?

No, still the ear of sovereign 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.

Collection of Hymns Adapted to Public Worship, no. 203 (all eight stanzas); Poems, 1780, vol. 1, pp. 144-6; MS, Steele Collection, Angus Library, Regents Park College, STE 3/1/1 no. 80; also Nonconformist Women Writers, vol. 1, pp. 130-31.