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8s. Jeremiah xv. 18.
1 AH! why am I left to complain
In gloomy despair of relief?
No end of oppression and pain,
No respite, or ease of my grief!
To soothe my incurable wound
No friendly physician I see;
No balm is in Gilead found,
No promise of mercy for me.
2 In vain for redemption I look;
My hope in a Saviour unknown,
It passes away like a brook
Dried up in a moment and gone!
But God cannot finally fail;
The fountain of life from above
Shall rise in the depth of the vale,
Shall flow with a current of love.
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