633. C. M. Drummond. |God is our refuge and strength; a very present help in trouble.|
1 Bereft of all, when hopeless care
Would sink us to the tomb,
O what can save us from despair?
What dissipate the gloom?
2 No balm that earthly plants distil
Can soothe the mourner's smart;
No mortal hand with lenient skill
Bind up the broken heart.
3 But One alone, who reigns above,
Our woe to peace can turn,
And light the lamp of joy and love
That long has ceased to burn.
4 Then, O my soul, to that One flee,
To God thy woes reveal;
His eye alone thy wounds can see,
His hand alone can heal.