1 BREATHE from the gentle south, O Lord,
And cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of thy word,
And call the spices forth!
I wish, thou know'st, to be resign'd,
And wait with patient hope;'
But hope delay'd fatigues the mind,
And drinks the spirits up.
3 Help me to reach the distant goal,
Confirm my feeble knee,
Pity the sickness of a soul
That faints for love of thee.
4 Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
Yet since I feel it so,
It yields some hope of life divine
Within, however low.
5 I seem forsaken and alone,
I hear the lion roar;
And ev'ry door is shut but one,
And that is mercy's door.
6 There, till the dear Deliv'rer come,
I'll wait with humble pray'r;
And when he calls his exile home,
The Lord shall find him there.
1 CHEER up, my soul, there is a mercy-seat
Sprinkled with blood, where Jesus answers pray'r;
There humbly cast thyself beneath his feet,
For never needy sinner perish'd there.
2 Lord, I am come! thy promise is my plea,
Without thy word I durst not venture nigh;
But thou hast call'd the burden'd soul to thee,
A weary burden'd soul, O Lord, am I!
3 Bow'd down beneath a heavy load of sin,
By Satan's fierce temptations sorely prest,
Beset without, and full of fears within,
Trembling and faint I come to thee for rest.
4 Be thou my refuge, Lord, my hiding-place,
I know no force can tear me from thy side;
Unmov'd I then may all accusers face,
And answer ev'ry charge with "Jesus dy'd."
5 Yes, thou didst weep, and bleed, and groan, and die, Well hast thou known what fierce temptations mean, Such was thy love, and now, enthron'd on high, The same compassions in thy bosom reign.
6 Lord, give me faith-he hears-what grace is this! Dry up thy tears, my soul, and cease to grieve; He shows me what he did, and who he is,
I must, I will, I can, I do believe.
XII. The Effort-in another Measure.
1 APPROACH, my soul, the mercy-seat
Where Jesus answers pray'r;
There humbly fall before his feet,
For none can perish there.
2 Thy promise is my only plea,
With this I venture nigh;
Thou callest burden'd souls to thee,
And such, O Lord, am I.
3 Bow'd down beneath a load of sin,
By Satan sorely prest;
By war without, and fears within,
I come to thee for rest.
4 Be thou my shield and hiding-place!
That, shelter'd near thy side,
I may my fierce accuser face,
And tell him, "Thou hast dy'd."
5 Oh wondrous love! to bleed and die,
To bear the cross and shame,
That guilty sinners, such as I,
Might plead thy gracious name.
6 "Poor tempest-tossed soul, be still,
"My promis'd grace receive;"
Tis Jesus speaks-I must, I will,
I can, I do believe.
XIII. Seeking the Beloved.
1 To those who know the Lord, I speak,
Is my beloved near?
The bridegroom of my soul I seek,
Oh! when will he appear?
2 Though once a man of grief and shame, Yet now he fills a throne,
And bears the greatest, sweetest name,
That earth or heav'n have known.
3 Grace flies before, and love attends
His steps where'er he goes;
Though none can see him but his friends,
And they were once his foes.
4 He speaks-obedient to his call
Our warm affections move;
Did he but shine alike on all,
Then all alike would love.
5 Then love in ev'ry heart would reign,
And war would cease to roar;
And cruel and blood-thirsty men
Would thirst for blood no more.
6 Such Jesus is, and such his grace,
Oh may he shine on you!
And tell him, when you see his face,
I long to see him too *.
XIV. Rest for weary Souls.
1 DOES the Gospel-word proclaim
Rest for those who weary be?
Then, my soul, put in thy claim,
Sure that promise speaks to thee:
Marks of grace I cannot show,
All polluted is my best;
Yet I weary am I know,
And the weary long for rest.
2 Burden'd with a load of sin,
Harass'd with tormenting doubt,
Hourly conflicts from within,
Hourly crosses from without:
All my little strength is gone,
Sink I must without supply;
Sure upon the earth is none
Can more weary be than I.
3 In the ark, the weary dove
Found a welcome resting place 2;
Thus my spirit longs to prove
Rest in Christ, the ark of grace:
Tempest-toss'd I long have been,
And the flood increases fast;
Open, Lord, and take me in,
Till the storm be overpast.
4 Safely lodg'd within thy breast,
What a wondrous change I find!
Now I know thy promis'd rest
Can compose a troubled mind:
You that weary are like me,
Hearken to the Gospel call;
To the ark for refuge flee,
Jesus will receive you all!
GOD moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
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