1 I weep, but do not yield, I mourn, yet still rebel;
My inmost soul seems steeled, cold and immoveable.
The wound is sharp and deep; my spirit bleeds within;
And yet I lie asleep, and still I sin, I sin.
2 My bruisèd soul complains of stripes without, within;
I feel these piercing pains— yet still I sin, I sin.
O’er me the low cloud hung its weight of shade and fear;
Unmoved I passed along, and still my sin is here.
3 Yon massive mountain-peak the lightning rends at will;
The rock can melt or break— I am unbroken still.
My sky was once noon-bright, my day was calm the while,
I loved the pleasant light, the sunshine’s happy smile.
4 I said, my God, oh, sure, this love will kindle mine;
Let but this calm endure, then all my heart is Thine.
Alas, I knew it not! the summer flung its gold
Of sunshine o’er my lot, and yet my heart was cold.
5 Trust me with prosperous days, I said, O spare the rod;
Thee and Thy love I’ll praise, my gracious, patient God.
Must I be smitten, Lord? Are gentler measures vain?
Must I be smitten, Lord? Can nothing save but pain?
6 Thou trusted me a while; alas! I was deceived;
I reveled in the smile, yet to the dust I cleaved.
Then fierce the tempest broke, I knew from whom it came;
I read in that sharp stroke a Father’s hand and name.
7 And yet I did Thee wrong; dark thoughts of Thee came in—
A froward, selfish throng— and I allowed the sin!
I did Thee wrong, my God, I wronged Thy truth and love;
I fretted at the rod, against Thy power I strove.
8 I said, my God, at length, this stony heart remove;
Deny all other strength, but give me strength to love.
Come nearer, nearer still, let not Thy light depart;
Bend, break this stubborn will, dissolve this iron heart.
9 Less wayward let me be, more pliable and mild,
In glad simplicity more like a trustful child.
Less, less of self each day, and more, my God, of Thee;
O keep me in the way, however rough it be.
10 Less of the flesh each day, less of the world and sin;
More of Thy Son, I pray, more of Thyself within.
Riper and riper now, each hour let me become,
Less fit for scenes below, more fit for such a home.
11 More molded to Thy will, Lord, let Thy servant be,
Higher and higher still, liker and liker Thee.
Leave naught that is unmeet; of all that is mine own;
Strip me, and so complete my training for the throne.
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