2 Of so divine a guest,

Unworthy though I be, Yet has my heart no rest, Unless it come from Thee. 3 Unless it come from Thee, In vain I look around;

In all that I can see,

No rest is to be found.

4 No rest is to be found

But in Thy blessèd love: O let my wish be crowned, And send it from above.

2 Fountain of o'erflowing grace, Freely from Thy fullness give; Till I close my earthly race, May I prove it Christ to live. 3 When I touch the blessèd shore, Back the closing waves shall roll;

Death's dark stream shall nevermore Part from Thee my ravished soul. 4 Thus, oh, thus an entrance give To the land of cloudless sky; Having known it Christ to live, Let me know it gain to die.

2 Loud may the troubled ocean roar; In sacred peace our souls abide; While every nation, every shore, Trembles, and dreads the swelling tide. 3 There is a stream whose gentle flow Supplies the city of our God,

Life, love, and joy, still gliding through, And watering our divine abode.

4 That sacred stream, Thine holy word,
Our grief allays, our fear controls;
Sweet peace Thy promises afford,
And give new strength to fainting souls.
5 Zion enjoys her monarch's love,
Secure against a threatening hour;
Nor can her firm foundation move,
Built on His truth, and armed with power

the dead.

A. L. Waring, 1850. All