L. M.

Melancholy thoughts reproved; or, Hope in afflictions.

My spirit sinks within me, Lord,

But I will call thy name to mind,

And times of past distress record,

When I have found my God was kind.

Huge troubles with tumultuous noise

Swell like a sea, and round me spread;

Thy water-spouts drown all my joys,

And rising waves roll o'er my head.

Yet will the Lord command his love,

When I address his throne by day,

Nor in the night his grace remove;

The night shall hear me sing and pray.

I'll cast myself before his feet,

And say, "My God, my heav'nly rock,

Why doth thy love so long forget

The soul that groans beneath thy stroke?"

I'll chide my heart that sinks so low,

Why should my soul indulge her grief?

Hope in the Lord, and praise him too;

He is my rest, my sure relief.

Thy light and truth shall guide me still,

Thy word shall my best thoughts employ,

And lead me to thine heav'nly hill,

My God, my most exceeding joy.