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Written in Stress of Temptation
I am the man who long have known The fierceness of temptation’s rage! And still to God for help I groan: When shall my groans His help engage? |
Out of the deep on Christ I call, In bitterness of spirit cry; Broken upon that Stone I fall, I fall,—the chief of sinners I. |
Saviour of men, my sad complaint Let me into Thy bosom pour; Beneath my load of sin I faint, And hell is ready to devour. |
A devil to myself I am, Yet cannot ’scape the flesh I tear; Beast, fiend, and legion is my name, My lot the blackness of despair. |
Why then in this unequal strife, To Tophet’s utmost margin driven, Still gasps my parting soul for life, Nor quite gives up her claim to heaven? |
Why hopes for help my drooping heart, (Hopes against hope,) when none is nigh? I cannot from my Lord depart, But kiss the feet at which I die. |
My Lord, (I still will call Thee mine, Till sentenced to eternal pain,) Thou wouldest not Thy cup decline, The vengeance due to guilty man. |
My sufferings all to Thee are known, Tempted in every point like me: Regard my griefs, regard Thine own: Jesu! remember Calvary! |
O, call to mind Thy earnest prayers, Thine agony and sweat of blood, Thy strong and bitter cries and tears, Thy mortal groan, “my God! my God!” |
For whom didst Thou the cross endure? Who nail’d Thy body to the tree? Did not Thy death my life procure? O, let Thy bowels answer me! |
Art Thou not touch’d with human woe? Hath pity left the Son of Man? Dost Thou not all our sorrow know, And claim a share in all our pain? |
Canst Thou forget Thy days of flesh? Canst Thou my miseries not feel? Thy tender heart—it bleeds afresh It bleeds!—and Thou art Jesus still! |
I feel, I feel Thee now the same, Kindled Thy kind relentings are; These meltings from Thy bowels came, Thy Spirit groan’d this inward prayer. |
Thy prayer is heard, Thy will is done! Light in Thy light at length I see; Thou wilt preserve my soul Thine own, And show forth all Thy power in me. |
My peace returns, my fears retire, I find Thee lifting up my head; Trembling I now to heaven aspire, And hear the voice that wakes the dead. |
Have I not heard, have I not known, That Thou, the Everlasting Lord, Whom earth and heaven their Maker own, Art always faithful to Thy word? |
Thou wilt not break a bruised reed, Or quench the faintest spark of grace, Till through the soul Thy power is spread, Thy all-victorious righteousness. |
With labour faint Thou wilt not fail, Or wearied give the sinner o’er, Till in this earth Thy judgment dwell, And, born of God, I sin no more. |
The day of small and feeble things I know Thou never wilt despise; I know, with healing in His wings, The Sun of Righteousness shall rise. |
My heart Thou wilt anew create, The fulness of Thy Spirit give: In steadfast hope for this I wait, And confident in Christ believe. |
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