The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
Confession and Pardon.
I
Alas, my aching heart!Here the keen torment lies;
It racks my waking hours with smart,
And frights my slumbering eyes.
II
Guilt will be hid no more,My griefs take vent apace,
The crimes that blot my conscience o'er
Flush crimson in my face.
III
My sorrows, like a flood,Impatient of restraint,
Into thy bosom, O my God,
Pour out a long complaint.
IV
This impious heart of mineCould once defy the Lord,
Could rush with violence on to sin
In presence of thy sword.
438
V
How often have I stoodA rebel to the skies,
The calls, the tenders of a God,
And mercy's loudest cries!
VI
He offers all his grace,And all his heav'n to me;
Offers! but 'tis to senseless brass,
That cannot feel nor see.
VII
Jesus the Saviour standsTo court me from above,
And looks and spreads his wounded hands,
And shews the prints of love.
VIII
But I, a stupid fool,How long have I withstood
The blessings purchas'd with his soul,
And paid for all in blood?
IX
The heav'nly Dove came downAnd tender'd me his wings
To mount me upward to a crown,
And bright immortal things.
X
Lord, I'm asham'd to sayThat I refus'd thy Dove,
And sent thy Spirit griev'd away,
To his own realms of love.
XI
Not all thine heav'nly charms,Nor terrors of thy hand,
Could force me to lay down my arms,
And bow to thy command.
XII
Lord, 'tis against thy faceMy sins like arrows rise,
And yet, and yet, O matchless grace!
Thy thunder silent lies.
XIII
O shall I never feelThe meltings of thy love?
Am I of such hell-harden'd steel
That mercy cannot move?
XIV
Now for one powerful glance,Dear Saviour, from thy face!
This rebel heart no more withstands,
But sinks beneath thy grace.
XV
O'ercome by dying love I fall,Here at thy cross I lie;
And throw my flesh, my soul, my all,
And weep, and love, and die.
XVI
‘Rise,’ says the Prince of mercy, ‘rise,‘With joy and pity in his eyes:
‘Rise, and behold my wounded veins,
‘Here flows the blood to wash thy stains.
XVII
‘See my great Father reconcil'd:’He said. And lo, the Father smil'd;
The joyful cherubs clapp'd their wings,
And sounded grace on all their strings.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |