“And the Lord went his way.” Gen. 18. 33
J. Hart C.M.
When Jesus, with his mighty love,
Visits my troubled breast,
My doubts subside, my fears remove,
And I’m completely blest;
[I love the Lord with mind and heart,
His people and his ways;
Envy, and pride, and lust depart,
And all his works I praise;]
Nothing but Jesus I esteem;
My soul is then sincere;
And everything that’s dear to him,
To me is also dear.
But ah! when these short visits end,
Though not quite left alone,
I miss the presence of my Friend,
Like one whose comfort’s gone.
[I to my own sad place return,
My wretched state to feel;
I tire, and faint, and mope, and mourn,
And am but barren still.]
More frequent let thy visits be,
Or let them longer last;
I can do nothing without thee;
Make haste, O God, make haste.