It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,

And drives away his fear!

It makes the wounded spirit whole

And calms the troubled breast;

Tis manna to the hungry soul,

And to the weary, rest.

Dear Name! the rock on which I build,

My shield and hiding-place,

My never-failing treasury, fill'd

With boundless stores of grace, --

By Thee my prayers acceptance gain,

Although with sin defiled;

Satan accuses me in vain,

And I am own'd a Child.

Weak is the effort of my heart,

And cold my warmest thought;

But, when I see Thee as Thou art,

I'll praise Thee as I ought.

Till then, I would Thy love proclaim

With every fleeting breath;

And may the music of Thy Name

Refresh my soul in death!