Breathe from the gentle south, [O Lord,
And]1 cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of Thy word,
[And]1 call the spices forth!

[I wish, Thou knowest, to be resign'd,
And wait with patient hope;
But hope delay'd fatigues the mind,
And drinks the spirits up.]1

Help me to reach the distant goal;
Confirm my feeble knee;
Pity the sickness of a soul,
That faints for love of Thee!

Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
Yet, since I feel it so,
It yields some hope of life divine
[Within, however low.]1

[I seem forsaken and alone,
I hear the lion roar;
And every door is shut but one,
And that is Mercy's door.]1

[There,]1 till the dear Deliverer come,
I'll wait with humble prayer;
[And when He calls His exile home,
The Lord shall find him there.]1