O this is blessing, this is rest! Into thine arms, O Lord! I flee; I hide me in thy faithful breast, And pour out all my soul to thee, Now, hushing every adverse sound, Songs of defense my soul surround, As if all saints encamped about One trusting heart, pursued by doubt. 2 And O, how solemn, yet how sweet, Their one assured, persuasive strain! “The Lord of hosts is thy retreat, Still in his hands thy times remain.” O tender word! O truth divine! Lord, I am altogether thine; I have bowed down, I need not flee; Peace, peace is found in trusting thee. 3 And now I count supremely kind The rule that once I thought severe; And precious, to my altered mind, At length thy kind reproofs appear. I must be taught what I would know, I must be led where I should go: And all the rest ordained for me, Is to be found in trusting thee. 763 L. M. The repose of faith. O Father! gladly we repose Our souls on thee, who dwellest above, And bless thee for the peace which flows From faith in thine encircling love. 2 Though every earthly trust may break, Infinite might belongs to thee; Though every earthly friend forsake, Unchangeable thou still wilt be. 3 Though griefs may gather darkly round, They can not vail us from thy sight; Though vain all human aid be found, Thou every grief canst turn to light. 4 All things thy wise designs fulfill, In earth beneath, and heaven above, And good breaks out from every ill, Through faith in thine encircling love. 764 L. M. 6 lines. God is my light and my salvation. Psalm 27:1. Fountain of light, and living breath, Whose mercies never fail nor fade, Fill me with life that hath no death, Fill me with light that hath no shade; Appoint the remnant of my days To see thy power, and sing thy praise. 2 O Lord, our God, before whose throne Stand storms and fire, O what shall we Return to heaven, that is our own, When all the world belongs to thee? We have no offering to impart, But praises, and a broken heart. 3 O thou who sittest in heaven and seest My deeds without, my thoughts within, Be thou my prince, be thou my priest— Command my soul, and cure my sin: How bitter my afflictions be, I care not, so I rise to thee. 4 What I possess, or what I crave, Brings no content, great God, to me, If what I would, or what I have, Be not possessed and blest in thee: What I enjoy, O, make it mine, In making me—that have it—thine. 765 L. M. I delight to do thy will, O my God. Psalm 40:8.