Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord,
      And cheer me from the north;

Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord,
      And cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of thy word,
      And call the spices forth!

I wish, thou know'st, to be resigned,
      And wait with patient hope;
But hope delayed fatigues the mind,
      And drinks the spirit up.

Help me to reach the distant goal;
      Confirm my feeble knee;
Pity the sickness of a soul
      That faints for love of thee!

Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
      Yet, since I feel it so,
It yields some hope of life divine
      Within, however low:

I seem forsaken and alone,
      I hear the lion roar;
And every door is shut but one,
      And that is Mercy's door.

There, till the dear Deliverer come,
      I'll wait with humble prayer;
And when he calls his exile home,
      The Lord shall find him there.

~ William Cowper

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