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.
Text: Timothy Whelan, gen. ed., Nonconformist Women Writers, 8 vols. (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2011), vol. 1, pp. 130-31; Collection of Hymns Adapted to Public Worship, no. 121 (all stanzas); Poems, 1780, vol. 1, pp. 144-46; MS, Steele Collection, STE 3/1/1 no. 80, Angus Library, Regents Park College, Oxford,