The Christian's Refuge.
By J. A. Dayton
WHEN overwhelmed with grief
Thy chastening hand I feel,
I would not murmuring bow,
But humbly, meekly kneel:
And reverent bless the tender love,
Which kindly chides me when I rove. When friends from my embrace
By death's relentless hand
Are torn, I'll bow in hope
To thy all-wise command.
Dear Lord, my anguished heart shall feel
Thy smile hath balm each wound to heal. When Satan's active power
Defies my boasted strength,
And proves how frail I am,
Where should I turn at length
But unto thee, if strength I'd claim,
And find it, Lord, in thy dear name. Nor would I thee forget
When blessings thicken round,
In gladness or in gloom,
I would, oh Lord, be found,
Where every joy may tempered be,
And sorrow finds a balm in thee. Oh yes, I'd ever crave,
Nor for one moment cease,
Wisdom and grace to guide
In wisdom's paths of peace.
Till thou shalt say, Receive thy crown,
Thy toil is o'er, thy warfare done. J. A. Dayton.
Chesaning, Mich.