Thou ve­ry pre­sent aid,
In suf­fer­ing and dis­tress,
The soul which still on Thee is stayed
Is kept in per­fect peace.

The soul by faith re­clined
On His Re­deem­er’s breast,
Midst rag­ing storms ex­ults to find
An ev­er­last­ing rest.

Sorrow and fear are gone,
Whene’er Thy face ap­pears,
It stills the sigh­ing or­phan’s moan,
And dries the wi­dow’s tears.

It hal­lows ev­ery cross,
It sweet­ly com­forts me,
And makes me now for­get my loss;
And lose my­self in Thee.

Peace to the trou­bled heart,
Health to the sin-sick mind,
The wound­ed spir­it’s balm Thou art,
The Heal­er of man­kind.

In deep af­flict­ion blest,
With Thee I mount above,
And sing, tri­um­phant­ly dis­tressed,
Thine all-suf­fi­cient love.

Jesus, to whom I fly,
Doth all my wish­es fill,
In vain the crea­ture-streams are dry,
I have the Fount­ain still.

Stripped of my earth­ly friends,
I find them all in One,
And peace and joy that ne­ver ends,
And Hea­ven, in Christ alone!