On the Loss of His Emends, Hymn 9

O Bitter, bitter loss!
My bosom friend is gone,
My life, and comfort was
Wrapp'd up in him alone:
My eyes' and heart's desire is fled,
The intercourse is o'er,
My bosom friend to me is dead,
He loves my soul no more.
To Satan's malice left,
By human furies torn,
Of all my joys bereft,
For none but this I mourn;
As Rachel obstinately grieve,
Disconsolate in woe,
Nor will I ever more receive
Comfort in things below.
I lift my broken heart
To Him that reigns above:
O would He once impart
The medicine of His love!
rfis only love can be my balm,
My wounded spirit ease;
His only voice the storm can calm,
And bid my sorrows cease.
O wouldst Thou, Lord, appear,
And answer to my cry,
Thy hopeless mourner cheer,
Thy balmy blood apply.
From Thee, the God of pardoning love,
I never would depart,
But seek my whole delight above,
And give Thee all my heart.
; Were I from all my pain
Miraculously freed,
Might I receive again
My Isaac from the dead,
He still should on Thine altar lie,
Till both translated were,
And met each other in the sky,
And met the Saviour there!