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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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