Peonies and “Let me to Thy bosom fly,”

“Let me to Thy bosom fly,”
Weak and wounded, like the bird,
Hear, oh, hear my earnest cry;
Let Thy pity be conferred.

“Let me to Thy bosom fly,”
Stormy waves around me roll;
Surges beating mountain high,
Threaten to engulf my soul.

“Let me to Thy bosom fly,”
Hallelujah! then I’ll sing;
Thro’ the blue arch of the sky,
Anthems loud and clear shall ring.

Chorus:
“Let me to Thy bosom fly;”
Let my lips repeat the cry;
“While the tempest still is high,
Let me to Thy bosom fly.”

Mrs. E. W. Chapman