Groaning for Redemption, Part 4

Behold, ye souls that mourn for God,
And take ye comfort from my grief,
Be strengthen'd by my grievous load,
Let my distress be your relief,
With mine your tears and sorrows join,
And lose by mixing them with mine

I am the man who long have known
The strength and rage of inbred sin;
My soul is dead, my heart is stone,
A cage of birds and beasts unclean,
A den of thieves, a dire abode
Of dragons, but no house of God.

I dare not speak, I cannot show
The depths of Satan harbour'd there,
The horrors of infernal woe,
The black and blasphemous despair;
Who can conceive, but those that feel
Indwelling sin, indwelling hell!

A stranger intermeddleth not
With our inexplicable grief;
Tis past the reach of human thought,
The torture of this unbelief,
The struggling groan, the passion loud,
The heart that says, There is no God.

But will He not at last appear,
And make His power and Godhead known?
Surely He shall the mourner cheer,
And make the broken heart His throne;
Shall break it first, and then bind up:
In hope believe ye against hope.

Comfort, ye ministers of grace,
Comfort My people, saith our God!
Ye soon shall see His smiling face,
His golden sceptre, not His rod,
And own, when now the cloud's removed,
He only chasten'd whom He loved.

Who sow in tears in joy shall reap,
The Lord shall comfort all that mourn;
Who now go on our way and weep,
With joy we doubtless shall return
And bring our sheaves with vast increase,
And have our fruit to holiness.

Then let us patiently attend,
And wait the leisure of our Lord:
Surely we all shall in the end
Experience His abiding word,
Shall all His gracious power declare,
And fruit unto perfection bear.