Him wilt Thou keep in perfect peace,

Whose mind is stay'd on Thee;

Me, Lord, from pining care release,

And vain perplexity.

'Tis not the bleeding wounds of grief,

Whose anguish I bemoan;

An evil heart of unbelief,

A cold, hard heart of stone;--

O'er this, in loneliness, I wake,

And darkness to be felt,

Since Sinai's thunders cannot break,

Nor Calvary's sufferings melt.

Uncheer'd with hopes, unawed by fears,

All comfort banish'd hence,

O for a burst of contrite tears!

A pang of penitence!

O for one grain of saving faith,

Upspringing in my breast!

"Come unto Me," my Saviour saith,

"And I will give thee rest."

I hear, I know the joyful sound;

I fly that call to meet,

And find, what all who sought have found

Rest at His blessed feet.