701    10s     W. Gadsby
No Solid Comfort but in Christ. Ps. 30. 7

1 When my dear Jesus hides his smiling face,
  Nor lets me feel the unction of his grace;
  I feel my loss, nor can my spirit rest,
  ’Till with his lovely presence I am blest.

2 I mourn like one bereft of home and friend,
  And often wonder where the scene will end;
  Tortured with anxious care, without repose,
  I feel as one immersed in gloomy woes.

3 The means of grace afford no sweet relief,
  But often tend to aggravate my grief;
  I cannot rest without my resting-place;
  Sweet Jesus, come, and let me thee embrace.