L. M.

Melancholy thoughts reproved; or, Hope in afflictions.

My spirit sinks within me, Lord,

But I will call thy name to mind,

And times of past distress record,

When I have found my God was kind.

Huge troubles with tumultuous noise

Swell like a sea, and round me spread;

Thy water-spouts drown all my joys,

And rising waves roll o'er my head.

Yet will the Lord command his love,

When I address his throne by day,

Nor in the night his grace remove;

The night shall hear me sing and pray.

I'll cast myself before his feet,

And say, |My God, my heav'nly rock,

Why doth thy love so long forget

The soul that groans beneath thy stroke?|

I'll chide my heart that sinks so low,

Why should my soul indulge her grief?

Hope in the Lord, and praise him too;

He is my rest, my sure relief.

Thy light and truth shall guide me still,

Thy word shall my best thoughts employ,

And lead me to thine heav'nly hill,

My God, my most exceeding joy.