S. M. In weariness and pain, By sins and fears opprest, I turn me to my Rest again, My soul’s eternal Rest. 2. The Lamb that died for me And still my load doth bear; To Jesus’ streaming wounds I flee And find my quiet there. 3. Jesus, was ever grief, Was ever love, like Thine? Thy sorrow, Lord, is my relief, Thy life hath ransomed mine. 4. O may I rise with Thee And soar to things above And spend a blest eternity In praise of dying love! Charles Wesley, 1749, a. 505 8, 7, 8, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8 Zion mourns in fear and anguish, Zion, city of our God. “Ah!” she saith, “how sore I languish, Bowed beneath so hard a load! God hath now forsook me quite And forgot my evil plight.” Nay, the Lord, who chose thee, spares thee, For within His heart He bears thee. 2. “Once,” she mourns, “He promised plainly That His help should aye be near, Yet I now must seek Him vainly In my days of woe and fear. Will He, then, forevermore Keep His anger and no more Help His chosen generation In its present tribulation?” 3. “Zion, surely I have loved thee!” Thus to her the Highest saith. “Although many woes have proved thee And thy soul is sad to death, Yet now cast thy griefs behind; Where wilt thou a mother find For her own child not providing Or in hatred with it chiding? 4. “And if thou couldst find a mother Who forgot her infant’s claim Or whose wrath her love could smother, Yet would I be still the same; For My truth is pledged to thee, Zion, thou art dear to Me; I within My heart have set thee, And I never can forget thee. 5. “Let not Satan make thee craven; He can fight, but cannot harm. On My hands thy name is graven, And thy shield is still My arm. How, then, could it ever be That I failed to think of thee, Build the wall of My own city And look down on thee with pity? 6. “Thou before My eyes art ever, In My bosom thou art laid As a nursing child, and never Shalt thou lack My timely aid. Me and thee no time nor stress, War, nor danger, nor distress, No, nor Satan’s self shall sever,— Only be thou faithful ever.” J. Heermann, 1636; C. Winkworth, tr., a. 506 8, 7, 8, 7, 7, 7, 8, 8 Let not such a thought e’er pain thee As that thou art cast away, But within God’s Word restrain thee, That far otherwise doth say. E’en though thou unrighteous art, True and faithful is God’s heart. Hast thou death deserved forever? God’s appeased, despond thou never!