My soul amid this stormy world

My soul amid this stormy world, Is like some fluttered dove, And fain would be as swift of wing And flee to Him I love.

The cords that bound my heart to earth Are loosed by Jesus' hand; Before His Cross I now am left A stranger in the land.

That visage marred, those sorrows deep, The thorns, the scourge, the gall, These were the golden chains of love His captive to enthral.

Fain would I, Saviour, know Thy love, Which yet no measure knows! Would search the depths of all Thy wounds The secret of Thy woes.

Fain would I strike the golden harp And wear the promised crown; And at Thy feet, while bending low, Would sing what grace has done.