Classic Poem

What means this wicked wand'ring heart?
This trembling ague of my soul?
Would Jesus but a look impart;
One look from him would make we whole.

But will he turn to me his face,
From whom he justly did withdraw?
To me who slighted all that grace
I in my past experience saw?

Lord, for thy promise sake return,
Apply thy pard'ning cleansing blood;
Look down with pity on a worm,
With cov'nant mercy do me good.

When thy free Sp'rit the word applies,
And kindly tells me thou art mine,
My faithless sinking heart replies,
Ah, Lord! I wish I could be thine.

My faith's so 'nighted in my doubts,
I cast the offer'd good away;
And lose, by raising vain disputes,
The wonted blessings of the day.

Was e'er one pres'd with such a load,
Or pierc'd with such an unseen dart;
To find at once an absent God,
And yet, alas! a careless heart?

Such grief as mine a griefless grief,
Did ever any mortal share?
An hopeless hope, a lifeless life,
Or such unwonted careless care?

'Tis sad, Lord! when for night's solace
Nor moon, nor starry gleams appear:
Yet worse, when in this dismal case
My heart is hard'ned from thy fear.

'Twas not because no show'rs did flow
Of heav'nly manna at my door;
But by my folly I'm into
A worse condition than before.

Come, Lord, with greater pow'r; for why,
Mine, sure, is not a common case;
Thou offer'st to unveil: yet I
Do scarce incline to see thy face.

Such languid faint desires I feel
Within this wicked stupid heart;
I should, I would; but that I will
I hardly dare with truth assert.

O to be free of that vile wrack,
That basely keeps me from my God!
I flee from thee, Lord: bring me back
By tender love or by thy rod.

In paths of righteousness direct,
New proofs of thy remission give;
Then of thy name I'll mention make
With grateful praises while I live:

On banks of mercy's boundless deep
With sweeter ease I'll soar and sing,
Than kings of feather'd hosts, that sweep
The oozy shore with easy wing.

But if thy mind omniscient know
I'm for this absent bless unfit,
Give grace to hate my sins, and to
Their righteous punishment submit.

But let me ne'er thy Spirit lack,
That by his aid my pray'rs may come
Before him, who can wisely make
Ev'n distance lead his people home.

Deep wisdom can my soul prepare
By present woes for absent bliss.
By acid griefs that now I share,
He can convey the joys I miss.

Who all from nothing's womb disclos'd,
Can make th' amazing product cease;
With him our order is confus'd,
By him confusion brings forth peace.

Then, Lord, ne'er let me basely spurn
Against thy searchless unknown ways;
But magnify thy work, and turn
My groans and murmurs into praise.

Let me submissive, while I live,
Thy awful justice own with fear:
Yet pensive, let me never grieve
Thy tender mercy by despair.

Since though by sin I foully swerv'd,
And lewdly from my glory fell;
I'm chasten'd here, and not reserved
To feel the weight of sin in hell:

Thy high right hand's once joyful days
In my distress I'll call to mind;
And own that all thy darkest ways
Will clearly prove thee good and kind.