O That I had the silver wings: Another

Omniscient God, whose eyelids try
The self-deceiving sons of men,
To Thee how shall I dare draw nigh,
A man of lips and heart unclean!
Thou know'st I mean not what I say,
Thou know'st I only seem to pray.

Doubtless Thou art of purer eyes
Than to behold iniquity;
And all my nature naked lies,
And all my thoughts appear to Thee;
No fig-leaves from Thy sight can hide
My filthiness of self and pride.

O my abominable heart!
Its secrets all to Thee are known;
The sin from which I cannot part,
The sin that claims me for its own;
Thou seest it all; my nature's shame;
Thou seest, what I should die to name.

The foul reproach I groan to bear,
And vainly struggle to get free:
Yet still I breathe a tainted air,
(Tainted, alas! by sin and me,)
And wish for wings to flee away,
And ever in the desert stay.

O that I had a cottage there
To lodge a poor wayfaring man!
Far from the world of noise and care,
Of grief, anxiety, and pain,
O, could I from my people roam,
And be where none but God could come'

Me as a bowl if now He turn,
To foreign climes with violence loss,
I would not for a moment mourn
My kindred, or my country's loss:
A voluntary exile, I
Would there consent to live and die.

O, might I have my one request,
My fond and foolish heart's desire,
And get me hence, and be at rest,
Into the deepest shades retire,
Be clean forgot, and out of mind! —
O, where shall I the desert find?

Can earth afford that secret place?
Long have I sought it out in vain,
And fled before the human face,
And dragg'd to distant worlds my chain;
Yet still I found the carnal mind,
I could not leave myself behind.

Tis vain, I find, from self to flee
For rest, to earth's remotest bound:
The deep cries out, 'Tis not in me!
Happiness is not to be found,
Save only, Jesus, in Thy breast:
Thou art the soul's eternal rest.

But how shall I to Thee attain,
Thee, whom I sinfully pursue;
Unprofitable I, and vain!
Thy glory is not in my view:
What shall I say Thy grace to win?
My very prayer is turn'd to sin.

Nothing in me Thy grace can move,
A wretched man of sin I am;
But Thou art good, but Thou art love,
And Jesus is Thy healing name:
O, for Thy name and mercy's sake,
The sinner to Thy bosom take!

Do as Thou findest in Thy heart;
Reject me, Saviour, or receive;
Bid me from Thee to hell depart,
Or bid me come to Thee, and live:
I trust my soul to this alone,
Let all Thy will on me be done.