Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles…For just as the sufferings of Christ flow over into our lives, so also through Christ our comfort overflows.@2 Corinthians 1:3,5
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Charles Wesley (1707–1788)

Charles Wes­ley, Hymns and Sac­red Poems 1740.

Aberyst­wyth (Par­ry) Jo­seph Par­ry, 1876. First pub­lished in Ed­ward Ste­phens’ Ail Lyfr To­nau ac Emy­nau, 1879 (🔊 pdf nwc).

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Joseph Parry (1841–1903)

Mrs. Mary Hoo­ver, of Belle­fonte, Penn­syl­vania, whose grand­mo­ther was the her­o­ine of the sto­ry, has re­lat­ed to her pas­tor this fam­i­ly tra­di­tion:

Charles Wes­ley was preach­ing in the fields of the par­ish of Kil­ly­leagh, Coun­ty Down, Ire­land, when he was at­tacked by men who did not ap­prove of his doc­trines. He sought re­fuge in a house lo­cat­ed on what was known as the Is­land Barn Farm. The far­mer’s wife, Jane Low­rie Moore, told him to hide in the milk­house, down in the gar­den.

Soon the mob came and de­mand­ed the fu­gi­tive. She tried to qui­et them by of­fer­ing them re­fresh­ments. Go­ing down to the milk­house, she di­rect­ed Mr. Wes­ley to get through the rear window and hide un­der the hedge, by which ran a lit­tle brook. In that hid­ing place, with the cries of his pur­su­ers all about him, he wrote this im­mor­tal hymn.

Descendants of Mrs. Moore still live in the house, which is much the same as it was in Wes­ley’s time.

Sankey, pp. 172–73

Some have called this the fin­est hymn in the Eng­lish lang­uage.

Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,
While the nearer waters roll,
While the tempest still is high.
Hide me, O my Savior, hide,
Till the storm of life is past;
Safe into the haven guide;
O receive my soul at last.

Other refuge have I none,
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;
Leave, ah! leave me not alone,
Still support and comfort me.
All my trust on Thee is stayed,
All my help from Thee I bring;
Cover my defenseless head
With the shadow of Thy wing.

Wilt Thou not regard my call?
Wilt Thou not accept my prayer?
Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall—
Lo! on Thee I cast my care;
Reach me out Thy gracious hand!
While I of Thy strength receive,
Hoping against hope I stand,
Dying, and behold, I live.

Thou, O Christ, art all I want,
More than all in Thee I find;
Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
Heal the sick, and lead the blind.
Just and holy is Thy name,
I am all unrighteousness;
False and full of sin I am;
Thou art full of truth and grace.

Plenteous grace with Thee is found,
Grace to cover all my sin;
Let the healing streams abound;
Make and keep me pure within.
Thou of life the fountain art,
Freely let me take of Thee;
Spring Thou up within my heart;
Rise to all eternity.