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Poem

How oft' I'm made to doubt, and fear that grace shall leave me destitute
That promise of the Savior is not made for man of my repute
That when I come before the throne to answer for my heinous crimes
I there be found unpardoned for those many dark and sinful times

For Satan, my great enemy, that Serpent old in ages
Father of each lying word, perverts the holy pages
Through deceit, beguiling tongue, he robs the soul of peace
He is sure to there be found where joyful praises cease

Where doubts creep in to steal your faith, and fear to take your love
With sleight of hand, the iron fist concealed in velvet glove
A whispering thought into the mind, as subtle as can be
Shall wrap a chain and shackle round the throat of liberty

How oft' I'm made to doubt, and fear that Christ forsake my wretched soul
That my true Friend blot out my name, forever, from His blessed scroll
Yet thank the One true living God, Who sends to me His Word
A still small voice that I perceive is spoken from the LORD

Assuring me of victory, if I but trust and pray
That He shall keep me in His hand, and there I'll ever stay

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