1 Still out of the deepest Abyss
Of Trouble I mournfully cry,
And pine to recover my Peace,
And see my Redeemer and die.
I cannot, I cannot forbear
These Passionate Longings for Home;
O when shall my Spirit be there?
O when will the Messenger come?

2 Thy Nature I long to put on,
Thine Image on Earth to regain,
And then in the Grave to lay down
My Burden of Body and Pain;
O JESUS in pity draw near,
And lull me to sleep on thy Breast;
Appear, to my Rescue, appear
And gather me into thy Rest.

3 To take a poor Fugitive in
The Arm of thy Mercy display,
And give me to rest from all Sin,
And bear me triumphant away:
Away from a World of Distress,
Away to the Mansions above,
A Heaven of seeing thy Face,
A Heaven of feeling thy Love.