What a mournful life is mine,

Fill with crosses, pains and cares!

Every work defiled with sin,

Every step beset with snares!

If alone I pensive fit,

I myself can hardly bear;

If I pass along the street,

Sin and riot triumph there.

Jesus! how my heart is pained,

How it mourns for souls deceived!

When I hear thy name profaned,

When I see thy Spirit grieved!

When thy children’s griefs I view,

Their distress becomes my own;

All I hear, or see, or do,

Makes me tremble, weep and groan.

Mourning thus I long had been,

When I heard my Savior’s voice;

Thou hast cause to mourn for sin,

But in me thou may’st rejoice.”

This kind word dispelled my grief,

Put to silence my complaints;

Though of sinners I am chief,

He his ranked me with his saints.

Though constrained to dwell a while

Where the wicked strive and brawl;

Let them frown; so he but smile,

Heav’n will make amends for all.

There, believers, we shall rest,

Free from sorrow, sin and fears;

Nothing there our peace molests,

Through eternal rounds of years.

Let us then the fight endure,

See our Captain looking down;

He will make the conquest sure,

And bestow the promised crown.