On the Death of Thomas Beard, Hymn 6

Thou very present Aid
In suffering and distress,
The soul, which still on Thee is stay'd,
Is kept in perfect peace;
The soul by faith reclined
On his Redeemer's breast,
Midst raging storms exults to find
An everlasting rest.

Sorrow and fear are gone,
Whene'er Thy face appears,
It stills the sighing orphan's moan,
And dries the widow's tears;
It hallows every cross,
It sweetly comforts me,
And makes me now forget my loss,
And lose myself in Thee.

Peace to the troubled heart,
Health to the sin-sick mind;
The wounded spirit's balm Thou art,
The Healer of mankind:
In deep affliction bless'd
With Thee I mount above,
And sing, triumphantly distress'd,
Thine all-sufficient love.

Jesus, to whom I fly,
Doth all my wishes fill,
In vain the creature-streams are dry,
I have the Fountain still.
Stripp'd of my earthly friends,
I find them all in One,
And peace, and joy, that never ends,
And heaven, in Christ alone!