When Han­nah, pressed with grief,
Poured forth her soul in pray­er;
She quick­ly found re­lief,
And left her bur­den there:
Like her, in ev­ery try­ing case,
Let us ap­proach the throne of grace.

When she be­gan to pray,
Her heart was pained and sad;
But ere she went away,
Was com­fort­ed and glad:
In trou­ble, what a rest­ing place,
Have they who know the throne of grace!

Though men and de­vils rage,
And threat­en to de­vour;
The saints, from age to age,
Are safe from all their pow­er:
Fresh strength they gain to run their race,
By wait­ing at the throne of grace.

Eli her case mis­took,
How was her spi­rit moved
By his un­kind rebuke?
But God her cause ap­proved.
We need not fear a crea­ture’s face,
While wel­come at the throne of grace.

She was not filled with wine,
As Eli rash­ly thought;
But with a faith di­vine,
And found the help she sought:
Though men des­pise and call us base,
Still let us ply the throne of grace.

Men have not pow­er or skill,
With trou­bled souls to bear;
Though they ex­press good-will,
Poor com­fort­ers they are:
But swell­ing sor­rows sink apace,
When we ap­proach the throne of grace.

Numbers be­fore have tried,
And found the pro­mise true;
Nor one been yet de­nied,
Then why should I or you?
Let us by faith their foot­steps trace,
And hast­en to the throne of grace.

As fogs ob­scure the light,
And taint the morn­ing air;
But soon are put to flight,
If the bright sun ap­pear;
Thus Je­sus will our trou­bles chase,
By shin­ing from the throne of grace.