LXXXVII. The peaceful State of the Soul, that trusteth in GOD.

WEARY and weak and faint,
I cast mine Eyes around;
My Joints all tremble, and my Feet
Sink deep in miry Ground.

Despairing Help below,
To Heav'n I raise my Cries;
GOD hears, and his almighty Arm
Out-stretches from the Skies.

I on that Arm repose,
And all my Fears are o'er;
New Strength diffus'd thro' all my Soul
Assists its vital Pow'r.

My Mind in perfect Peace
Thy guardian Care shall keep:
I'll yield to gentle Slumbers now,
For thou canst never sleep.

Happy the Souls alone,
On thee securely stay'd!
Nor shall they be in Life alarm'd,
Nor be in Death dismay'd.