“Wait ye upon me, saith the Lord.” Zeph. 3. 8
J. Berridge 112th
1
O thou with battering tempest tossed,
Perplexed and shattered here and there,
Bewildered on a legal coast,
And finding no deliverance near,
On Jesus calling with sad thought,
But Jesus seems to mind thee not!
2
Soon as thy heart can moaning cry,
“What must a wretched sinner do?”
To Jesus lift thy weary eye,
For whither else can sinners go?
And Jesus will not fail thy hope;
But on him wait till he rise up.
3
He will rise up the prey to take;
His mighty arm he will make bare;
He will, for his own mercy’s sake,
Bereave thee of thy guilty fear,
And tame the beasts within thy breast;
But on him wait, till he give rest.
