7s & 6s. Isaiah xxxii. 2. 1 TO the haven of thy breast, O Son of man, I fly! Be my refuge and my rest, For O the storm is high! Save me from the furious blast, A covert from the tempest be! Hide me, Jesus, till o'erpast The storm of sin I see.
2 Welcome as the water-spring To a dry, barren place, O descend on me, and bring Thy sweet refreshing grace; O'er a parched and weary land As a great rock extends its shade, Hide me, Saviour, with thine hand, And screen my naked head.
3 In the time of my distress Thou hast my succour been, In my utter helplessness Restraining me from sin; O how swiftly didst thou move To save me in the trying hour! Still protect me with thy love, And shield me with thy power.
4 First and last in me perform The work thou hast begun; Be my shelter from the storm. My shadow from the sun; Weary, parched with thirst, and faint, Till thou; the abiding Spirit breathe, Every moment, Lord, I want The merit of thy death.
5 Never shall I want it less, When thou the gift hast given, Filled me with thy righteousness, And sealed the heir of heaven; I shall hang upon my God, Till I thy perfect glory see; Till the sprinkling of thy blood Shall speak me up to thee.
