By A Collection of Hymns

      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.