O holy Saviour! Friend unseen!
The faint, the weak, on thee may lean:
Help me, throughout life's varying scene,
By faith to cling to thee.
Blest with communion so divine,
Take what thou wilt, I'll ne'er repine.
E'en as the branches to the vine
My soul would cling to thee.
Far from her home, fatigued, oppress'd,
Here she has found a place of rest;
An exile still, yet not unblest,
While she can cling to thee.
Without a murmur I dismiss
My former dreams of earthly bliss;
My joy, my consolation this,
Each hour to cling to thee.
What though the world deceitful prove,
And earthly friends and joys remove;
With patient, uncomplaining love
Still would I cling to thee.
Oft when I seem to tread alone
Some barren waste with thorns o'ergrown,
A voice of love, in gentlest tone,
Whispers, "Still cling to me."
Though faith and hope awhile be tried,
I ask not, need not aught beside:
How safe, how calm, how satisfied,
The souls that cling to thee!
They fear not life's rough storms to brave,
Since thou art near, and strong to save;
Nor shudder e'en at death's dark wave;
Because they cling to thee.
Blest is my lot, whate'er befall:
What can disturb me, who appal,
While, as my strength, my rock, my all,
Saviour! I cling to thee?
I will be glad and rejoice in thy mercy: for thou hast considered my trouble; thou hast known my soul in adversities Psalms 31:7
One day a person who, by the calamities of war, sickness, and other affliction, had been reduced from a state of affluence to penury, came to Gotthold in great distress. He complained that he had just met one of his former acquaintances, who was even not distantly related to him, but that he had not condescended to bow, far less to speak to him, and had turned his eyes away, and passed him as if he had been a stranger. O sir, he exclaimed with a sigh, how it pained me! I felt as if a dagger had pierced my heart!
Gotthold replied, Don’t think it strange at all. It is the way of the world to look high, and to pass unnoticed that which is humble and lowly. I know, however, of One who, though he dwelleth on high, humbleth himself to behold the things that are in heaven and in the earth (Ps. 113:5-6), and of whom the royal prophet testifies: “Thou hast known my soul in adversities.”
Yes; though we have lost our rich attire, and come to him in rags; though our forms be wasted because of grief, and waxed old (Ps. 6:7, Luth. Ver.); though sickness and sorrow have consumed our beauty like a moth (Ps. 39:11); though blushes, and tears, and dust, overspread our face (Ps. 69:7), he still recognizes, and is not ashamed to own us. Comfort yourself with this, for what harm will it do you at last, though men disown, if God the Lord have not forgotten you?