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S. M.

Distress of soul; or, Backsliding and desertion.



Mine eyes and my desire

Are ever to the Lord;

I love to plead his promises,

And rest upon his word.

Turn, turn thee to my soul,

Bring thy salvation near;

When will thy hand release my feet

Out of the deadly snare?

When shall the sovereign grace

Of my forgiving God

Restore me from those dangerous ways

My wand'ring feet have trod?

The tumult of my thoughts

Doth but enlarge my woe;

My spirit languishes, my heart

Is desolate and low.

With ev'ry morning light

My sorrow new begins;

Look on my anguish and my pain,

And pardon all my sins.

Behold the hosts of hell,

How cruel is their hate!

Against my life they rise, and join

Their fury with deceit.

O keep my soul from death,

Nor put my hope to shame,

For I have placed my only trust

In my Redeemer's name.

With humble faith I wait

To see thy face again:

Of Isr'el it shall ne'er be said,

He sought the Lord in vain.

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