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183

John Brownlie

8,8,8,4

O Jesus, let me hear Thy voice,

No music sweeter to my ear;

It tells my drooping heart to hope,

For Thou art near.

Speak when the tempest fiercely blows,

Bid Thou its angry raging cease;

For where Thy voice is heard, there reigns

Eternal peace.

Speak when the clouds in dusky folds

Hide from mine eyes the noontide sun;

For when Thy voice proclaims Thy will,

Thy will is done.

O Jesus, let Thy voice be heard

In stilly eve and buoyant morn;

And let the peace it brings, each day

My life adorn.

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