The Waiting Soul

Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord,
And cheer me from the north;

Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord,
And cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of thy word,
And call the spices forth!

I wish, thou know’st, to be resigned,
And wait with patient hope;
But hope delayed fatigues the mind,
And drinks the spirit up.

Help me to reach the distant goal;
Confirm my feeble knee;
Pity the sickness of a soul
That faints for love of thee!

Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
Yet, since I feel it so,
It yields some hope of life divine
Within, however low:

I seem forsaken and alone,
I hear the lion roar;
And every door is shut but one,
And that is Mercy’s door.

There, till the dear Deliverer come,
I’ll wait with humble prayer;
And when he calls his exile home,
The Lord shall find him there.

William Cowper