8s. Jeremiah xv. 18. 1 AH! why am I left to complain In gloomy despair of relief? No end of oppression and pain, No respite, or ease of my grief! To soothe my incurable wound No friendly physician I see; No balm is in Gilead found, No promise of mercy for me.
2 In vain for redemption I look; My hope in a Saviour unknown, It passes away like a brook Dried up in a moment and gone! But God cannot finally fail; The fountain of life from above Shall rise in the depth of the vale, Shall flow with a current of love.