The Hymn of a Wounded Spirit

I love to steal awhile away

From every cumbering care,

And spend the hour of setting day

In humble, grateful prayer.

I love in solitude to shed

The penitential tear,

And all His promises to plead

Where none but God can hear.

I love to think of mercies past,

And future good implore,

And all my cares and sorrows cast

On Him whom I adore.

I love by faith to take a view

Of brighter scenes in heaven;

The prospect doth my strength renew,

While here by tempests driven.

Thus when life’s toilsome day is o’er,

May its departing ray

Be calm as this impressive hour

And lead to endless day.

Phoebe Hinsdale Brown, 1818.