“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.
