Beatrice

Lyrics

O that I knew the secret place
Where I might find my God!
I’d spread my wants before His face,
And pour my woes abroad.

I’d tell Him how my sins arise,
What sorrows I sustain;
How grace decays and comfort dies,
And leaves my heart in pain.

Arise, my soul, from deep distress,
And banish ev’ry fear,
He calls thee to His throne of grace,
To spread thy sorrows there.