Former slave trader John Newton wrote this hymn in 1779. Although we do not know the exact reasons why we suffer just like Job, John Newton imagines what God would have us learn during these seasons. The version I have linked below is perhaps more sombre than a version you have heard before, but I feel it nicely fits the tone of the poem.

I asked the Lord that I might grow
in faith and love and ev’ry grace;
might more of his salvation know,
and seek more earnestly his face.

’Twas he who taught me thus to pray,
and he, I trust, has answered pray’r,
but it has been in such a way
as almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favoured hour
at once he’d answer my request,
and by his love’s constraining pow’r
subdue my sins and give me rest.

Instead of this he made me feel
the hidden evils of my heart,
and let the angry pow’rs of hell
assault my soul in ev’ry part.

Yea more, with his own hand he seemed
intent to aggravate my woe,
crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
humbled my heart, and laid me low.

“Lord, why is this?” I, trembling, cried;
“Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?”
“Tis in this way,” the Lord replied,
“I answer prayer for grace and faith.

“These inward trials I employ
from self and pride to set thee free,
and break thy schemes of earthly joy
that thou may’st find thy all in me.”

Dear Friends,

While the UK and many other countries mourn the death of the longest reigning British monarch, Queen Elizabeth II, I wanted to share this hymn of lament written by Anne Steele in the 1700s. A daughter of a Particular Baptist minister, and losing her mother at 3, she was a bright and cheerful woman, but one who suffered greatly from her ongoing health problems. Her hymns reveal that her health problems provoked great spiritual struggles as well, and she is often wrestling with doubts and assurance of salvation – some of which can be felt in this hymn. This version from Indelible Grace, for me, really captures the tone and heart felt cry of the words

Dear refuge of my weary soul,
On Thee, when sorrows rise
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies
To Thee I tell each rising grief,
For Thou alone canst heal
Thy Word can bring a sweet relief,
For every pain I feel

But oh! When gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call Thee mine
The springs of comfort seem to fail,
And all my hopes decline
Yet gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust
And still my soul would cleave to Thee
Though prostrate in the dust

Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face,
And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sovereign grace,
Be deaf when I complain?
No still the ear of sovereign grace,
Attends the mourner’s prayer
Oh may I ever find access,
To breathe my sorrows there

Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet,
Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet