Poetry Archives

O Lord, my God, in mercy turn,
In mercy hear a sinner mourn!
To thee I call, to thee I cry,
O leave me, leave me not to die!

I strove against thee, Lord, I know,
I spurn’d thy grace, I mock’d thy law;
The hour is past—the day’s gone by,
And I am left alone to die.

O pleasures past, what are ye now
But thorns about my bleeding brow!
Spectres that hover round my brain,
And aggravate and mock my pain.

For pleasure I have given my soul;
Now, Justice, let thy thunders roll!
Now, Vengeance, smile—and with a blow
Lay the rebellious ingrate low.

Yet, Jesus, Jesus! there I’ll cling,
I’ll crowd beneath his sheltering wing;
I’ll clasp the cross, and holding there,
Even me, oh bliss!—his wrath may spare.