One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads Original, and suitable for music [by Jean Ingelow] |
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CONFLICT. |
 | One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads |  |
88
CONFLICT.
“Show me wherefore Thou contendest with me.”
Art Thou come down my life to end
In the dark, with Thy dread might?
I am nought: O how should I contend?
And I did think Thou wert my friend,
Thou Wrestler in the night.
In the dark, with Thy dread might?
I am nought: O how should I contend?
And I did think Thou wert my friend,
Thou Wrestler in the night.
Why is Thy hand so heavy on me?—
I faint—I am undone;
I fall—there once was pity with Thee;
By Thy past pity, O set me free,
My Lord, my Holy One.
I faint—I am undone;
I fall—there once was pity with Thee;
By Thy past pity, O set me free,
My Lord, my Holy One.
Thy dust cries to Thee from the ground,
Lord, Thou hast laid me low;
All my sins rise and hem me round,
In the dark accusing whispers sound—
I, whither shall I go?
Lord, Thou hast laid me low;
All my sins rise and hem me round,
In the dark accusing whispers sound—
I, whither shall I go?
I have dwelt careless; yet, methought
Thy smiles on me were sure;
I have done amiss and evil wrought;
Now, in great darkness, I am taught
How, Lord, Thine eyes are pure.
Thy smiles on me were sure;
I have done amiss and evil wrought;
Now, in great darkness, I am taught
How, Lord, Thine eyes are pure.
Is Thy great sum of kindness told?
Nay, through all tears, I wot
Thou art nearer to me than of old;
While Thou dost strive I can Thee hold.
Slay,—but depart Thou not.
Nay, through all tears, I wot
Thou art nearer to me than of old;
While Thou dost strive I can Thee hold.
Slay,—but depart Thou not.
89
Hear me. Thy strokes are not the whole
These bitter tears deplore.
To have grieved Thy heart is my worse dole;
Forgive, blest Wrestler, with my soul
I would Thee wound no more.
These bitter tears deplore.
To have grieved Thy heart is my worse dole;
Forgive, blest Wrestler, with my soul
I would Thee wound no more.
Thou art Thyself though Thou dost chide
My one hope, all my grace;
O Love! I cannot be denied;
O Christ! Thou wilt not me divide
From the comfort of Thy face.
My one hope, all my grace;
O Love! I cannot be denied;
O Christ! Thou wilt not me divide
From the comfort of Thy face.
Give yet a blessing ere day break.
I shall not see Thee here,
But I have held Thee;—do not take
Away Thy hand till Thou me make
Glad in Thy love and fear.
I shall not see Thee here,
But I have held Thee;—do not take
Away Thy hand till Thou me make
Glad in Thy love and fear.
| One Hundred Holy Songs, Carols, and Sacred Ballads | |