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Poem	Guilt of conscience and relief Amidst thy wrath remember love, Restore thy servant, Lord; Nor let a Father's chast'ning prove Like an avenger's sword. Thine arrows stick within my heart, My flesh is sorely pressed; Between the sorrow and the smart, My spirit finds no rest. My sins a heavy load appear, And o'er my head are gone; Too heavy they for me to bear, Too hard for me t' atone. My thoughts are like a troubled sea, My head still bending down; And I go mourning all the day, Beneath my Father's frown. Lord, I am weak and broken sore, None of my powers are whole: The inward anguish makes me roar, The anguish of my soul. All my desire to thee is known, Thine eye counts every tear; And every sigh, and every groan, Is noticed by thine ear. Thou art my God, my only hope; My God will hear my cry; My God will bear my spirit up, When Satan bids me die. [My foot is ever apt to slide, My foes rejoice to see 't; They raise their pleasure and their pride When they supplant my feet. But I'll confess my guilt to thee, And grieve for all my sin; I'll mourn how weak my graces be, And beg support divine. My God, forgive my follies past, And be for ever nigh; O Lord of my salvation, haste, Before thy servant die.]
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