WHITHER SHALL I FLEE FROM THY PRESE CE? By J. M.

CAVA ESS

Psa. 139 : 7. A thousand stars seem but the eyes Of Him with whom I have to do, Beholding all the false and true, That deeply in my nature lies. And should I take the wings of morn, And fly to earth's remotest bound, There shall Thy Spirit still be found, By whom my life must be upborne. Alas! then whither shall I fly, Since I can not escape or hide From woes the unredeemed abide. In earth or sea, or air or sky? I will return, like oah's dove. When no retreat discovering O'er watery waste to rest her wing, Unto the storm-proof ark of love. Why did you leave the sheltering breast, O weary, wandering, wayward soul? 'T is only heaven must be thy goal ; 'T is only Christ can give thee rest.

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