XCVIII. The timorous Saint encouraged by the Assurance of the divine Presence and Help.

AND art thou with us, gracious LORD,
To dissipate our Fear?
Dost thou proclaim thyself our GOD,
Our GOD for ever near?

Doth thy right Hand, which form'd the Earth,
And bears up all the Skies,
Stretch from on high its friendly Aid,
When Dangers round us rise?

Dost thou a Father's Bowels feel
For all thy humble Saints?
And in such tender Accents speak
To soothe their sad Complaints?

On this Support my Soul shall lean,
And banish ev'ry Care;
The gloomy Vale of Death must smile,
If GOD be with me there.

While I his gracious Succour prove
'Midst all my various Ways,
The darkest Shades, thro' which I pass,
Shall eccho with his Praise.