Dear refuge of my weary soul, on Thee when sorrows rise; On thee, when waves of trouble roll, my fainting hope relies. And, though—when gloomy doubts prevail—I fear to call thee mine; The springs of comfort seem to fail and all my hopes decline. To thee I tell each rising grief, for Thou alone can heal; Thy word dost bring a sweet relief, for every pain I feel. Thy word dost bring a sweet relief, for every pain I feel. Gracious God, why would I flee? Words of life come forth from thee Grace in hand, Thine only Son, Lifts my head and bids me come Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face? And shall I seek in vain? And can the ear of sovereign grace be deaf when I complain? No, still the ear of sovereign grace attends the mourner's prayer; O may I ever find access, to breathe my sorrows there. O may I ever find access, to breathe my sorrows there. Gracious God, why would I flee? Words of life come forth from thee Grace in hand, Thine only Son, Lifts my head and bids me come Gracious God, why would I flee? Words of life come forth from thee Grace in hand, Thine only Son, Lifts my head and bids me come