FILLMORE (Ingalls)

Texts

To God will I direct my prayer,
And He will make my needs HI care;
I trust Him still, though in my grief
No answer yet has brought relief;
With hands stretched out through all the night,
Uncomforted I sought for light.
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When gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean, Who not in vain
Experienced every human pain;
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
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And can it be that I should gain
An int'rest in the Savior's blood?
Died He for me, who caused His pain?
For me, who Him to death pursued?
Amazing love! how can it be
That Thou, my God, should die for me?
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