1 My heart, how dreadful hard it is!
How heavy here it lies!
Heavy and cold within my breast,
Just like a rock of ice!
2 Sin like a raging tyrant sits
Upon this flinty throne,
And ev'ry grace lies bury'd deep
Beneath this heart of stone.
3 How seldom do I rise to God,
Or taste the joys above!
This mountain presses down my faith,
And chills my flaming love.
3 When smiling mercy courts my soul,
With all its heav'nly charms,
This stubborn, this relentless thing,
Would thrust it from my arms.
5 Against the thunders of thy word
Rebellious I have stood;
My heart, it shakes not at the wrath
And terrors of a God.
6 Dear Saviour steep this rock of mine
In thine own crimson sea!
None but a bath of blood divine
Cant melt the flint away.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | My heart, how dreadful hard it is! |
Title: | Hardness of heart complained of |
Meter: | C. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1793 |