My soul is sad and much dismayed;

See, LORD, what legions of my foes,

With fierce Apollyon at their head,

My heav’nly pilgrimage oppose!

See, from the over–burning lake

How like a smoky cloud they rise!

With horrid blasts my soul they shake,

With storms of blasphemies and lies.

Their fiery arrows reach the mark,

My throbbing heart with anguish tear;

Each lights upon a kindred spark,

And finds abundant fuel there.

I hate the thought that wrongs the LORD;

O, I would drive it from my breast,

With thy own sharp two–edged sword,

Far as the east is from the west!

Come then, and chase the cruel host,

Heal the deep wounds I have received!

Nor let the pow’rs of darkness boast

That I am foiled, and thou art grieved!