The Soul’s Resting Place
“Thou art my hiding place; thou shalt preserve me from trouble; thou shalt compass me about with songs of deliverance” (Psalms 32:7).
My Savior, I am weary
Of everything but Thee,
All else is dark and dreary,
A wilderness to me.
By sin I’m sore oppressed,
By Satan sorely tried,
With self-love all distressed,
In Thee myself I hide.
Thy precious blood, it health
The wounds that sin has made;
My heart its comfort feeleth,
Whene’er it is afraid.
But, oh! the hope of being
Forever, Lord, with Thee.
The joyful hope of seeing,
The face once marred for me—
It fills my heart with comfort,
It fills my lips with praise,
So that amidst my sorrow
A joyful song I’ll raise.
No more shall Satan tempt me,
No more shall sin deceive
No more Thy heart, my Savior,
Shall I by folly grieve.
O! then, I shall be like Thee,
And in Thine image shine,
With deepest joy confessing,
The glory’s only Thine.
