In Cowper’s verses there are often references to his own depressed and anxious state of mind, and pathetic prayers for deliverance or suggestions of comfortable thoughts. She, too, who touched Thee in the press, And healing virtue stole, Was answered, ‘Daughter, go in peace, Thy faith hath made thee whole.’ Concealed amid the gathering throng, She would have shunned Thy view; And if her faith was firm and strong, Had strong misgivings too. Like her with hopes and fears we come, To touch Thee, if we may: Oh! send us not despairing home, Send none unhealed away. THE CONTRITE HEART The Lord will happiness divine On contrite hearts bestow; Then tell me, gracious God, is mine A contrite heart, or no? I hear, but seem to hear in vain, Insensible as steel; If ought is felt, ’tis only pain, To find I cannot feel. I sometimes think myself inclined To love Thee, if I could; But often feel another mind, Averse to all that’s good. Thy saints are comforted, I know, And love Thy house of prayer; I therefore go where others go, But find no comfort there. Oh, make this heart rejoice or ache, Decide this doubt for me; And if it be not broken, break— And heal it, if it be! THE WAITING SOUL Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord, And cheer me from the north; Blow on the treasures of Thy word, And call the spices forth! Help me to reach the distant goal; Confirm my feeble knee; Pity the sickness of a soul That faints for love of Thee! I seem forsaken and alone, I hear the lion roar; And every door is shut but one, And that is Mercy’s door. There, till the dear Deliverer come, I’ll wait with humble prayer; And when He calls His exile home, The Lord shall find him there. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE Lord, who hast suffered all for me, My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for Thee, Help me with patience to endure. The storm of loud repining hush, I would in humble silence mourn; Why should the unburnt, though burning bush, Be angry as the crackling thorn? Ah! were I buffeted all day, Mocked, crowned with thorns, and spit upon, I yet should have no right to say, My great distress is mine alone. Let me not angrily declare No pain was ever sharp like mine, Nor murmur at the cross I bear, But rather weep, remembering Thine.