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“Thou didst hide thy face, I was troubled.”  Ps. 30. 7

J. Berridge                       C.M.

1
If but a single moment’s space,
My Lord himself withdraws,
Dark clouds and storms come on apace,
And debts, and broken laws.

2
My heart reveals its dross and dung,
And loathsome is my breath;
My harp is on the willows hung,
And Esau vows my death.

3
My eyes refuse to lend a tear;
My throat is hoarse and dry;
I lisp and falter in my prayer,
And sick and faint am I.

4
If Jesus loves the gospel-poor,
That broken-hearted be,
A mourner waiteth at thy door,
Who wants a sight of thee.

5
Look from the windows of thy grace,
And cheer a drooping heart;
A single smile from thy sweet face
Will bid my griefs depart.

6
Thou art the life of all my joys;
Thy presence makes my heaven;
Whatever else my Lord denies,
Thy presence, Lord, be given.