Anna Laetitia Waring (19 April 1823 – 10 May 1910 / Galmorganshire, Wales)
O, This Is Blessing, This Is Rest
O, this is blessing, this is rest
Unto Thine arms, O Lord, I flee:
I hide me in Thy faithful breast,
And pour out all my soul to Thee.
There is a host dissuading me,
But, all their voices far above,
I hear Thy words — “O taste and see
The comfort of a Savior's love.
And, hushing every adverse sound,
Songs of defence my soul surround,
As if all saints encamped about
One trusting heart pursued by doubt,
And O, how solemn, yet how sweet
Their one assured, persuasive strain!
The Lord of hosts is thy retreat,
The Man who bore thy sin, thy pain.
Still in His hand thy times remain
Still of his body thou art part;
And He will prove his right to reig
O'er all things that concern thy heart.
O tenderness O truth divine!
Lord, I am altogether thine.
I have bowed down I need not flee
Peace, peace is mine in trusting Thee.
And now I count supremely kind,
The rule that once I thought severe;
And, precious to my altered mind,
At length, Thy least reproofs appear.
Now to the love that casts out fear,
Mercy and truth, indeed seem one;
Why should I hold my ease so dear?
The work of training must be done,
I must be taught what I would know
I must be led where I would go
And all the rest ordained for me,
Till that which is not seen I see
Is to be found in trusting Thee.
Comments about this poem (O, This Is Blessing, This Is Rest by Anna Laetitia Waring )
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