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259

785.

[O that I knew the way to find]

O that I knew the way to find
That Saviour of our sinful kind,
That Friend of misery!
Who left His blissful realms above,
Emptied Himself of all but love,
And died to ransom me!
He bids me seek Him in the word,
I search the records of my Lord,
But cannot find Him there;
I ask, nor yet my suit obtain,
I knock at mercy's door in vain,
And sink in sad despair.
Stirr'd up once more—what can I do
But still the labour lost renew,
The fruitless task repeat:
And if He can Himself deny,
And if I must unpitied die,
I'll perish at His feet!