Lost in be­wil­der­ing maze of sin,
And far from God as­tray,
The wick­ed, guiled by Sa­tan’s arts,
Pursue their dread­ful way.

From day to day they roam for rest,
But all their search in vain;
They seek the liv­ing ’mong the dead,
And joy where sor­rows reign.

Estranged from Thee, Thou God of peace!
What peace can sin­ners find?
What, but the phan­tom Satan gives
To lure the cap­tive mind?

The wick­ed, like the trou­bled sea,
In rest­less mo­tion rage,
And with their con­sci­ence, and with Thee,
Unceasing war­fare wage.

Till Thou di­rect our feet aright,
And guide us by Thy love,
From Hea­ven and peace, and safe­ty far,
Our wand­er­ing foot­steps rove.

When faith, up­lift­ing meek her eye,
Beholds Thine an­ger cease,
And grace in­spires the hope of Hea­ven—
This, this alone is peace.