If Hope’s retreat hath been, through all the past,
The shadow by the Rock of Ages cast,
Father, forsake us not! When tortures urge
The shrinking soul to that mysterious verge—
When from thy justice to thy love we fly,
On nature’s conflict look with pitying eye;
Bid the strong wind, the fire, the earthquake cease,
Come in the “small still voice,” and whisper—Peace![142]
For oh! ’tis awful! He that hath beheld
The parting spirit, by its fears repell’d,