Written By Daniel S. Warner

My soul in trouble roamed
Upon a weary plain,
And ever restless, longed
A perfect bliss to gain.

I have found it, Lord, in Thee
An everlasting store
Of comfort, joy, and bliss to me:
How can I wish for more?

Oppressed with guilt and woe,
With fears of hell o’ercast,
My soul no comfort knew
Until I came to Christ.

I bore within my breast
A deep and painful void,
I wanted inward rest,
And peace that would abide.

My foolish soul had thought
To fill itself with mold
From earthly mines, yet bought
No true and lasting gold.

All in this world is dross;
Its pleasures soon decay;
Its honors prove a snare;
Its treasures fly away.

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