ROMANS VII. 24.
“Who shall deliver me from the body of this death?”
Thou Son of God, Thou Son of man,
Whose eyes are as a flame of fire,
With kind concern regard my pain,
And mark my labouring heart's desire!
Its inmost folds are known to Thee,
Its secret plague I need not tell;
Nor can I hide, nor can I flee
The sin I ever groan to feel.
My soul it easily besets;
About my bed, about my way,
My soul at every turn it meets,
And half persuades me to obey.
Nothing I am, and nothing have,
Nothing my helplessness can do;
But Thou art good, and strong to save,
And all that seek may find Thee true.
How shall I ask, and ask aright?
My lips refuse my heart to' obey:
But all my wants are in Thy sight;
My wants, my fears, my sorrows pray.
I want Thy love, I fear Thy frown,
My own foul sin I grieve to see:
To' escape its force, would now sink down,
And die, if death could set me free.
Yet, O, I cannot burst my chain,
Or fly the body of this death:
Immured in flesh I still remain,
And gasp a purer air to breathe.
I groan to break my prison-walls,
And quit the tenement of clay;
Nor yet the shatter'd mansion falls,
Nor yet my soul escapes away.
Ah, Lord! Wouldst Thou within me live,
No longer then should I complain,
Nor sighing wish, nor weeping grieve
For Christ my life, or death my gain.
From grief and sin I then should cease;
My loosen'd tongue should then declare
Comfort, and love, and joy, and peace,
Fill all the soul when Christ is there!
