The Backslider: Another

O, The dire effects of sin!
What tongue can fully tell
All that I have felt within,
Since first from grace I fell?
Still Thou seest my stormy breast;
My soul is as the troubled sea;
Never, never can I rest,
Till I believe in Thee.

O, the load my spirit bears,
The mountain of my grief!
Full of cruel doubts and fears,
Of racking unbelief:
Did I ever Thee behold?
Thee did I ever truly know?
I can neither keep my hold,
Nor let my Saviour go.

Did I not my soul deceive
With groundless hopes of heaven?
Did I, Lord, indeed believe,
And was I once forgiven?
Still I ask, but no reply:
O, bid me, bid me come to Thee;
Son of David, hear my cry,
If mercy is for me.

Hear me still myself bemoan,
A bullock to the yoke
Unaccustom'd I rush on; —
O that my heart were broke!
Long I after Thee have mourn'd,
And still unpitied I complain;
Turn me, and I shall be turn'd,
And never sin again.

Me Thou wouldst not disregard,
Were I indeed sincere;
But my heart, alas! is hard,
And void of love and fear;
Seldom can I lift mine eyes,
Or offer Thee an hearty groan:
Take, if Thou wouldst have me rise,
O, take away the stone.