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Psalm 38

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.]

poem by Isaac Watts
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Related quotes

Bowed With a Sense of Sin

Bowed with a sense of sin, I faint
Beneath the complicated load;
Father, attend my deep complaint,
I am Thy creature, Thou my God.

Though I have broke Thy righteous law,
Yet with me let Thy Spirit stay;
Thyself from me do not withdraw,
Nor take my spark of hope away.

Mercy unlimited is Thine;
God of the penitent Thou art;
The saving power of blood divine
Shall ease the anguish of my heart.

Then let not sin my ruin be,
Gives me in Thee my rest to find:
Jesus, the sick have need of Thee,-
Thou great Physician of mankind.

In my salvation, Lord, display
The triumphs of abounding grace;
Tell me my guilt is done away,
And turn my mourning into praise.

Then shall I add my feeble song
To theirs who chant Thy praise on high,
And spread with an immortal tongue
Thy glory through the echoing sky.

poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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Hymn 163

Complaint of desertion and temptations.

Dear Lord! behold our sore distress;
Our sins attempt to reign;
Stretch out thine arm of conquering grace,
And let thy foes be slain.

[The lion with his dreadful roar
Affrights thy feeble sheep:
Reveal the glory of thy power,
And chain him to the deep.

Must we indulge a long despair?
Shall our petitions die?
Our mourning's never reach thine ear,
Nor tears affect thine eye?]

If thou despise a mortal groan,
Yet hear a Savior's blood;
An Advocate so near the throne
Pleads and prevails with God.

He brought the Spirit's powerful sword
To slay our deadly foes;
Our sins shall die beneath thy word,
And hell in vain oppose.

How boundless is our Father's grace,
In height, and depth, and length!
He makes his Son our righteousness,
His Spirit is our strength.

poem by Isaac Watts
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Sonnet: The Holy Cross

O, Let me carry Thine Cross in some way!
Though weary yet, O Let me help Thee, Lord;
O, Let me share the weight of sins, I pray;
And let me show the world, Love’s Cross and word.

Thine Cross is life to sinners world-over;
Thine Cross is Light to ones blinded sans faith;
I want to live God as Thine Cross-lover!
To follow Thee, my Lord, if Thou sayeth.

O how, I wish my soles could tread Thine path;
O how, I wish my shoulders bear Thine weight!
O Let my soul be cleansed by Thine blood-bath!
Usher me Lord, before it could grow late!

O Let me Lord, prevent Thee from one fall!
O answer me Lord, hasten to my call!

poem by John Celes
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Upon My Dear and Loving Husband his Going into England Jan. 16, 1661

O thou Most High who rulest all
And hear'st the prayers of thine,
O hearken, Lord, unto my suit
And my petition sign.

Into Thy everlasting arms Of mercy
I commend Thy servant, Lord.
Keep and preserve My husband,
my dear friend.

At Thy command, O Lord, he went,
Nor nought could keep him back.
Then let Thy promise joy his heart,
O help and be not slack.

Uphold my heart in Thee, O God.
Thou art my strength and stay,
Thou see'st how weak and frail I am,
Hide not Thy face away.

I in obedience to Thy will
Thou knowest did submit.
It was my duty so to do;
O Lord, accept of it.

Unthankfulness for mercies past
Impute Thou not to me.
O Lord, Thou know'st my weak desire
Was to sing praise to Thee.

Lord, be Thou pilot to the ship
And send them prosperous gales.
In storms and sickness, Lord, preserve.
Thy goodness never fails.

Unto Thy work he hath in hand
Lord, grant Thou good success
And favour in their eyes to whom
He shall make his address.

Remember, Lord, Thy folk whom Thou
To wilderness hast brought;
Let not Thine own inheritance
Be sold away for nought.

But tokens of Thy favour give,
With joy send back my dear
That I and all Thy servants may
Rejoice with heavenly cheer.

Lord, let my eyes see once again
Him whom Thou gavest me
That we together may sing praise
Forever unto Thee.

And the remainder of our days
Shall consecrated be
With an engaged heart to sing
All praises unto Thee.

poem by Anne Bradstreet
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Pleading For Mercy

In mercy, not in wrath, rebuke
Thy feeble worm, my God!
My spirit dreads thine angry look,
And trembles at thy rod.

Have mercy, Lord, for I am weak,
Regard my heavy groans;
O let thy voice of comfort speak,
And heal my broken bones!

By day my busy beating head
Is filled with anxious fears;
By night, upon my restless bed,
I weep a flood of tears.

Thus I sit desolate and mourn,
Mine eyes grow dull with grief;
How long, my Lord, ere thou return,
And bring my soul relief?

O come and show thy pow'r to save,
And spare my fainting breath;
For who can praise thee in the grave,
Or sing thy name in death?

Satan, my cruel envious foe,
Insults me in my pain;
He smiles to see me brought so low,
And tells me hope is vain,

But hence, thou enemy, depart!
Nor tempt me to despair;
My Saviour comes to cheer my heart,
The Lord has heard my prayer.

poem by John Newton
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Desiring to Be Given up to God

That my heart was right with thee,
And lov'd thee with a perfect love!
O that my Lord would dwell in me,
And never from his seat remove!
Jesus, remove th' impending load,
And set my soul on fire for God!

Thou seest I dwell in awful night
Until thou in my heart appear;
Kindle the flame, O Lord, and light
Thine everlasting candle there:
Thy presence puts the shadows by;
If thou art gone, how dark am I!

Ah! Lord, how should thy servant see,
Unless thou give me seeing eyes?
Well may I fall, if out of thee;
If out of thee, how should I rise?
I wander, Lord, without thy aid,
And lose my way in midnight's shade.

Thy bright, unerring light afford,
A light that gives the sinner hope;
And from the house of bondage, Lord,
O bring the weary captive up,
Thine hand alone can set me free
And reach my pardon out to me.

O let my prayer acceptance find,
And bring the mighty blessing down;
With eye-salve, Lord, anoint the blind,
And seal me thine adopted son:
A fallen, helpless creature take,
And heir of thy salvation make.

poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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Psalm 22 part 1

v.1-16
C. M.
The sufferings and death of Christ.

Why has my God my soul forsook,
Nor will a smile afford?
(Thus David once in anguish spoke,
And thus our dying Lord.)

Though 'tis thy chief delight to dwell
Among thy praising saints,
Yet thou canst hear a groan as well,
And pity our complaints.

Our fathers trusted in thy name,
And great deliv'rance found;
But I'm a worm, despised of men,
And trodden to the ground.

Shaking the head, they pass me by,
And laugh my soul to scorn;
"In vain he trusts in God," they cry,.
"Neglected and forlorn."

But thou art he who formed my flesh
By thine almighty word;
And since I hung upon the breast,
My hope is in the Lord.

Why will my Father hide his face,
When foes stand threat'ning round,
In the dark hour of deep distress,
And not a helper found?

PAUSE.

Behold thy darling left among
The cruel and the proud,
As bulls of Bashan, fierce and strong,
As lions roaring loud.

From earth and hell my sorrows meet
To multiply the smart;
They nail my hands, they pierce my feet,
And try to vex my heart.

Yet if thy sovereign hand let loose
The rage of earth and hell,
Why will my heav'nly Father bruise
The Son he loves so well?

My God, if possible it be,
Withhold this bitter cup
But I resign my will to thee,
And drink the sorrows up).

My heart dissolves with pangs unknown,
In groans I waste my breath;
Thy heavy hand has brought me down
Low as the dust of death.

Father, I give my spirit up,
And trust it in thy hand;
My dying flesh shall rest in hope,
And rise at thy command.

poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 13

Pleading with God under desertion.

How long, O Lord, shall I complain,
Like one that seeks his God in vain?
Canst thou thy face for ever hide,
And I still pray, and be denied?

Shall I for ever be forgot,
As one whom thou regardest not
Still shall my soul thine absence mourn,
And still despair of thy return?

How long shall my poor troubled breast
Be with these anxious thoughts oppressed?
And Satan, my malicious foe,
Rejoice to see me sunk so low?

Hear, Lord, and grant me quick relief,
Before my death conclude my grief:
If thou withhold thy heav'nly light,
I sleep in everlasting night.

How will the powers of darkness boast,
If but one praying soul be lost!
But I have trusted in thy grace,
And shall again behold thy face.

Whate'er my fears or foes suggest,
Thou art my hope, my joy, my rest;
My heart shall feel thy love, and raise
My cheerful voice to songs of praise.

poem by Isaac Watts
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Psalm 143

Complaint of heavy afflictions in mind and body.

My righteous Judge, my gracious God,
Hear when I spread my hands abroad,
And cry for succor from thy throne;
O make thy truth and mercy known!

Let judgment not against me pass;
Behold, thy servant pleads thy grace:
Should justice call us to thy bar,
No man alive is guiltless there.

Look down in pity, Lord, and see
The mighty woes that burden me;
Down to the dust my life is brought,
Like one long buried and forgot.

I dwell in darkness and unseen,
My heart is desolate within
My thoughts in musing silence trace
The ancient wonders of thy grace.

Thence I derive a glimpse of hope
To bear my sinking spirits up;
I stretch my hands to God again,
And thirst like parched lands for rain

For thee I thirst, I pray, I mourn:
When will thy smiling face return?
Shall all my joys on earth remove?
And God for ever hide his love?

My God, thy long delay to save
Will sink thy pris'ner to the grave;
My heart grows faint, and dim mine eye;
Make haste to help before I die.

The night is witness to my tears,
Distressing pains, distressing fears;
O might I hear thy morning voice,
How would my wearied powers rejoice!

In thee I trust, to thee I sigh,
And lift my heavy soul on high;
For thee sit waiting all the day,
And wear the tiresome hours away.

Break off my fetters, Lord, and show
Which is the path my feet should go;
If snares and foes beset the road,
I flee to hide me near my God.

Teach me to do thy holy will,
And lead me to thy heav'nly hill;
Let the good Spirit of thy love
Conduct me to thy courts above.

Then shall my soul no more complain,
The tempter then shall rage in vain;
And flesh, that was my foe before,
Shall never vex my spirit more.

poem by Isaac Watts
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O Sacred Head

O sacred head now wounded
With grief and shame way down,
Now scornfully surrounded
With thorns thine only crown,
How art thou pale with anguish,
With sore abuse and scorn.
How does that visage languish,
Which once was bright as morn.
What language shall I borrow
To thank thee dearest man?
For this, thy dying sorrow,
Thy pity without end.
O make me thine forever,
And should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, ever
Outlive my love to thee.

song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Sickness

Jesus, since I with thee am one,
Confirm my soul in thee,
And still continue to tread down
The man of sin in me.

Let not the subtle foe prevail
In this my feeble hour,
Frustrate all the hopes of hell
Redeem from Satan's pow'r.

Arm me, O Lord, from head to foot,
With righteousness divine;
My soul in Jesus firmly root,
And seal the Saviour mine.

Proportion'd to my pains below,
O let my joys increase,
And mercy to my spirit flow
In healing streams of peace.

In life and death be thou my God,
And I am more than safe:
Chastis'd by thy paternal rod,
Support me with thy staff.

Lay on me, Saviour, what thou wilt,
But give me strength to bear:
Thy gracious hand this cross hath dealt,
Which cannot be severe.

As gold refin'd may I come out,
In sorrow's furnace try'd;
Preserved from faithfulness and doubt,
And fully putify'd.

When, overwhelm'd with sore distress,
Out of the pit I cry,
On Jesus suffering in my place
Help me to fix mine eye.

When marr'd with tears, and blood, and sweat,
The glorious sufferer lay,
And in my stead sustain'd the heat
And burden of the day.

The pangs which my weak nature knows
Are swallow'd up in thine:
How numberless thy pondrous woes!
How few, how light are mine!

O might I learn of thee to bear
Temptation, pain and loss!
Give me a heart inur'd to prayer,
And fitted to the cross.

Make me, O Lord, thy patient son;
Thy language mine shall be:
"Father, thy gracious will be done,
I take the cup from thee."

While thus my soul is fixt on him
Once fasten'd to the wood,
Safe shall I pass through Jordan's stream,
And reach the realms of God.

And when my soul mounts up to keep
With thee the marriage feast,
I shall not die, but fall asleep
On my Redeemer's breast.

poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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Psalm 119 part 10

Pleading the promises.

ver. 38,49

Behold thy waiting servant, Lord,
Devoted to thy fear;
Remember and confirm thy word,
For all my hopes are there.

ver. 41,58,107

Hast thou not writ salvation down,
And promised quick'ning grace?
Doth not my heart address thy throne?
And yet thy love delays.

ver. 123,42

Mine eyes for thy salvation fail;
O bear thy servant up!
Nor let the scoffing lips prevail
Who dare reproach my hope.

ver. 49,74

Didst thou not raise my faith, O Lord?
Then let thy truth appear:
Saints shall rejoice in my reward,
And trust as well as fear.

poem by Isaac Watts
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The Rebel's Surrender To Grace (Lord, What Wilt Thou Have Me to Do?)

Lord, thou hast won, at length I yield,
My heart, by mighty grace compelled,
Surrenders all to thee;
Against thy terrors long I strove,
But who can stand against thy love?
Love conquers even me.

All that a wretch could do, I tried,
Thy patience scorned, thy pow'r defied,
And trampled on thy laws;
Scarcely thy martyrs at the stake,
Could stand more steadfast for thy sake,
Than I in Satan's cause.

But since thou hast thy love revealed,
And shown my soul a pardon sealed,
I can resist no more:
Couldst thou for such a sinner bleed?
Canst thou for such a rebel plead?
I wonder and adore!

If thou hadst bid thy thunders roll,
And lightnings flash to blast my soul,
I still had stubborn been:
But mercy has my heart subdued,
A bleeding Saviour I have viewed,
And now, I hate my sin.

Now, Lord, I would be thine alone,
Come take possession of thine own,
For thou hast set me free
Released from Satan's hard commands
See all my powers waiting stand,
To be employed by thee.

My will conformed to thine would move,
On thee my hope, desire, and love,
In fixed attention join;
My hands, my eyes, my ears, my tongue,
Have Satan's servants been too long,
But now they shall be thine.

And can I be the very same,
Who lately durst blaspheme thy name;
And on thy gospel tread?
Surely each one, who hears my case,
Will praise thee, and confess thy grace
Invincible indeed!

poem by John Newton
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Psalm 32 Part 2

A guilty conscience eased by confession and pardon.

While I keep silence, and conceal
My heavy guilt within my heart,
What torments doth my conscience feel!
What agonies of inward smart!

I spread my sins before the Lord,
And all my secret faults confess;
Thy gospel speaks a pard'ning word,
Thine Holy Spirit seals the grace.

For this shall every humble soul
Make swift addresses to thy seat;
When floods of huge temptations roll,
There shall they find a bless'd retreat.

How safe beneath thy wings I lie,
When days grow dark and storms appear;
And when I walk, thy watchful eye
Shall guide me safe from every snare.

poem by Isaac Watts
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The Mediator

O Christ, true Son of God most high,
Thy name we praise for ever;
Whoe'er to Thee for help doth cry
Shall find Thee fail him never;
'Tis Thou wilt plead,
Thou intercede
With God, for us who need Thy prayers so sore:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!

To Thee the Father giveth now
All power in earth and heaven;
Sin, Satan, Death to Thee must bow,
All fetters Thou hast riven,
Bade fear to cease,
And made our peace,
That now to God we dare our hearts outpour:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!

Fulness of grace is in Thy Word;
The Life, the Truth, the Way
To life eternal art Thou, Lord;
To Thee alone we pray,
Who didst appear
A servant here
To bear the sin that crushed the world before:
Thy bitter strife
Hath wrought us life,
And Thine be thanks and praise for evermore!

poem by Hans Sachs
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Paraphrase of Isaiah, Chap. 64

O that Thou wouldest rend the breadth of sky,
That veils Thy presence from the sons of men!
O that, as erst Thou camest from on high
Sudden in strength, Thou so would'st come again!
Track'd out by judgments was Thy fiery path,
Ocean and mountain withering in Thy wrath!

Then would Thy name—the Just, the Merciful—
Strange dubious attributes to human mind,
Appal Thy foes; and, kings, who spurn Thy rule,
Then, then would quake to hopeless doom
consign'd.
See, the stout bows, and totters the secure,
While pleasure's bondsman hides his head impure!

Come down! for then shall from its seven bright
springs
To him who thirsts the draught of life be given;
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard the things
Which He hath purposed for the heirs of heaven,—
A God of love, guiding with gracious ray
Each meek rejoicing pilgrim on his way.

Yea, though we err, and Thine averted face
Rebukes the folly in Thine Israel done,
Will not that hour of chastisement give place
To beams, the pledge of an eternal sun?
Yes for His counsels to the end endure;
We shall be saved, our rest abideth sure.

Lord, Lord! our sins… our sins… unclean are we,
Gross and corrupt; our seeming-virtuous deeds
Are but abominate; all, dead to Thee,
Shrivel, like leaves when summer's green recedes;
While, like the autumn blast, our lusts arise,
And sweep their prey where the fell serpent lies.

None, there is none to plead with God in prayer
Bracing his laggart spirit to the work
Of intercession; conscience-sprung despair,
Sin-loving still, doth in each bosom lurk.
Guilt calls Thee to avenge;—Thy risen ire
Sears like a brand, we gaze and we expire.

But now, O Lord, our Father! we are Thine,
Design and fashion; senseless while we lay,
Thou, as the potter, with a Hand Divine,
Didst mould Thy vessels of the sluggish clay.
Mark not our guilt, Thy word of wrath recall,
we are Thine by price, Thy people all!

Alas for Zion! 'tis a waste;—the fair,
The holy place in flames;—where once our sires
Kindled the sacrifice of praise and prayer,
Far other brightness gleams from Gentile fires.
Low lies our pride;—and wilt Thou self-deny
Thy rescuing arm unvex'd amid thine Israel's cry?

poem by John Henry Newman
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Psalm 63

Longing after God; or, The love of God better than life.

Great God, indulge my humble claim,
Thou art my hope, my joy, my rest;
The glories that compose thy name
Stand all engaged to make me blest.

Thou great and good, thou just and wise,
Thou art my Father and my God;
And I am thine by sacred ties;
Thy son, thy servant, bought with blood

With heart, and eyes, and lifted hands,
For thee I long, to thee I look,
As travellers in thirsty lands
Pant for the cooling water-brook.

With early feet I love t' appear
Among thy saints, and seek thy face;
Oft have I seen thy glory there,
And felt the power of sovereign grace.

Not fruits nor wines that tempt our taste,
Nor all the joys our senses know,
Could make me so divinely blest,
Or raise my cheerful passions so.

My life itself without thy love
No taste of pleasure could afford;
'Twould but a tiresome burden prove,
If I were banish'd from the Lord.

Amidst the wakeful hours of night,
When busy cares afflict my head,
One thought of thee gives new delight,
And adds refreshment to my bed.

I'll lift my hands, I'll raise my voice,
While I have breath to pray or praise;
This work shall make my heart rejoice,
And spend the remnant of my days.

poem by Isaac Watts
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In Memoriam A. H. H.: The Prelude

Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
Believing where we cannot prove;
Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
Thou madest Life in man and brute;
Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
Is on the skull which thou hast made.
Thou wilt not leave us in the dust:
Thou madest man, he knows not why,
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him: thou art just.

Thou seemest human and divine,
The highest, holiest manhood, thou.
Our wills are ours, we know not how,
Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

Our little systems have their day;
They have their day and cease to be:
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know;
For knowledge is of things we see;
And yet we trust it comes from thee,
A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,
But more of reverence in us dwell;
That mind and soul, according well,
May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight;
We mock thee when we do not fear:
But help thy foolish ones to bear;
Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

Forgive what seem'd my sin in me,
What seem'd my worth since I began;
For merit lives from man to man,
And not from man, O Lord, to thee.

Forgive my grief for one removed,
Thy creature, whom I found so fair.
I trust he lives in thee, and there
I find him worthier to be loved.

Forgive these wild and wandering cries,
Confusions of a wasted youth;
Forgive them where they fail in truth,
And in thy wisdom make me wise.

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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In Memoriam A. H. H.: Preface