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859.

[Ask we, now the storm is laid]

Why are ye so fearful? how is it that ye have no faith? —iv. 40.

Ask we, now the storm is laid,
Wherefore was my heart afraid?
Lord, with shame the cause I see,
Want of confidence in Thee.
But Thy love doth not despise
Nature's most imperfect cries,
Souls o'erwhelm'd with doubts and fears,
Faith which next to none appears.

481

Thou my little faith increase
Till my last temptations cease,
Till Thy goodness I adore
Safe on the eternal shore.