Book III · Hymn 10 · The Lord, Shall Find Me There

William Cowper

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!
I wish, thou know'st, to be resigned,
And wait with patient hope;
But hope delayed fatigues the mind,
And drinks the spirit up.
Help me to reach the distant goal;
Confirm my feeble knee;
Pity the sickness of a soul
That faints for love of thee.
Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
Yet since I feel it so;
It yields some hope of life divine
Within, however low.
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 Deliv'rer come,
I'll wait with humble prayer
And when he calls his exile home,