1029    S.M.     Henry Fowler
“The troubles of my heart are enlarged.” Ps. 25. 17

1 Come, Saviour, quickly come,
  Let me but feel thee near;
  I’m a poor wanderer far from home,
  Pursued by guilt and fear.

2 The troubles which I meet,
  The evils which I feel,
  The miry clay that clogs my feet,
  Entangle, and I reel.

3 Thy hand alone can guide
  My weather-beaten bark;
  And in this stormy sea provide
  A safe and solid ark.

4 O shut me safely in;
  Then at the storm I’ll smile;
  Nor fear the power of hell and sin,
  But triumph all the while.