My resting hours from harm;

No ill came nigh me, for I slept

Beneath the Almighty’s arm.

’Tis Thine—my daily bread that brings,

Like manna scattered round,

And clothes me, as the lily springs

In beauty from the ground.

J. Montgomery.

With years oppress’d, with sorrows worn,

Dejected, harass’d, sick, forlorn,