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C. M.

Hardness of heart complained of.


My heart, how dreadful hard it is!

How heavy here it lies!

Heavy and cold within my breast,

Just like a rock of ice!

Sin, like a raging tyrant, sits

Upon this flinty throne,

And every grace lies buried deep

Beneath this heart of stone.

How seldom do I rise to God,

Or taste the joys above!

This mountain presses down my faith,

And chills my flaming love.

When smiling mercy courts my Soul

With all its heav'nly charms,

This stubborn, this relentless thing

Would thrust it from my arms.

Against the thunders of thy word

Rebellious I have stood;

My heart, it shakes not at the wrath

And terrors of a God.

Dear Savior, steep this rock of mine

In thine own crimson sea!

None but a bath of blood divine

Can melt the flint away.

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