O love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in Thee,
I give Thee back the life I owe,
that in Thine ocean’s depths it’s flow,
may richer fuller be.

This is a verse from an old favourite Hymn of mine; it speaks about submitting our souls to the Creator God who made us, trusting in Him with our eternity and whole being. It has helped many people that I know who’ve been going through a really tough time in life, and sometimes even in the face of death these words speak a deeper truth, that ultimately we’ll all one day come face to face with our maker.

This image could be used as a card to a loved one who’s suffered the loss of someone close to them. It helps people to acknowledge a deep love for them and yet the ability to leave their beloved in the hands of a loving God.

Hymn: O Love that wilt not let me go. by George Matheson.
O Love that wilt not let me go,
I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe,
That in thine ocean depths its flow
May richer, fuller be.

O light that followest all my way,
I yield my flickering torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray,
That in thy sunshine’s blaze its day
May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
And feel the promise is not vain,
That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head,
I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life’s glory dead,
And from the ground there blossoms red
Life that shall endless be.

Matheson said about the hymn: My hymn was com­posed in the manse of In­ne­lan [Ar­gyle­shire, Scot­land] on the ev­en­ing of the 6th of June, 1882, when I was 40 years of age. I was alone in the manse at that time. It was the night of my sister’s mar­ri­age, and the rest of the fam­i­ly were stay­ing over­night in Glas­gow. Some­thing hap­pened to me, which was known only to my­self, and which caused me the most se­vere men­tal suf­fer­ing. The hymn was the fruit of that suf­fer­ing. It was the quick­est bit of work I ever did in my life. I had the im­press­ion of hav­ing it dic­tat­ed to me by some in­ward voice ra­ther than of work­ing it out my­self. I am quite sure that the whole work was com­plet­ed in five min­utes, and equal­ly sure that it ne­ver re­ceived at my hands any re­touch­ing or cor­rect­ion. I have no na­tur­al gift of rhy­thm. All the other vers­es I have ever writ­ten are man­u­fact­ured ar­ti­cles; this came like a day­spring from on high.

Hope you’ll find comfort in this image and these lovely words. Don.