John Brownlie (trans.) · 89 of 99

89: My soul doth wait on God

My soul doth wait on God, From Him my help proceeds; His mercy is exceeding broad, To overtake my needs.

He gives His pardoning grace, When I my sin confess; Nor ever hides from me His face In my distressfulness.

The Spirit of all power, Most freely He bestows; And I am strong in evil hour, When pressed by direst foes.

Oh, He has gifts in store, More rich than wealth commands; And when His pity I implore, He fills my empty hands.

God, Thou art good and kind, And full of tender grace; Have me for ever in Thy mind, Nor hide from me Thy face.