My refuge and rest

770 C. M.
The shadow of a great rock in a weary land.

NOW to the haven of thy breast
   O Son of man, I fly;
   Be thou my refuge and my rest,
   For O! the storm is high.

2 Protect me from the furious blast;
   My shield and shelter be:
   Hide me, my Saviour, till o’erpast
   The storm of sin I see.

3 As welcome as the water-spring
   Is to a barren place,
   Jesus, descend on me, and bring
   Thy sweet, refreshing grace.

4 As o’er a parch’d and weary land,
   A rock extends its shade,
   So hide me, Saviour, with thy hand,
   And screen my naked head.

5 In all the times of my distress
   Thou hast my succour been;
   And in my utter helplessness,
   Restraining me from sin;

6 How swift to save me didst thou move
   In every trying hour;
   O still protect me with thy love,
   And shield me with thy power.
                         Charles Wesley
                         Methodist Episcopal hymnal (1870 edition)

<idle musing>
Interesting that for Wesley, the thing he feared was not the trials and tribulations of public persecution—of which he had plenty, at least in the early years of the Methodist revival—but the onslaught of temptation! Take a look at the last two lines of the second verse, which explains what the furious blast is:

Hide me, my Saviour, till o’erpast
The storm of sin I see.

Would that we had that mindset today!
</idle musing>