1 I love the Lord; but ah! how far
My thoughts from the dear object are!
This wanton heart, how wide it roves!
And fancy meets a thousand loves.
2 If my soul burn to see my God,
I tread the courts of his abode;
But troops of rivals throng the place,
And tempt me oft before his fate.
3 Would I enjoy my Lord alone,
I bid my passions all begone,
All but my love; and charge my will
To bar the door and guard it still.
4 But cares or trifles, make or find
Still new approaches to the mind;
Till I with grief and wonder see
Huge crowds betwixt the Lord and me.
5 This foolish hart can leave its God,
And shadows tempt its thoughts abroad;
How shall I fix this wandering mind?
Or throw my fetters on the wind?
6 Look gently down, almighty grace,
Prison me round in thine embrace;
Pity the soul that would be thine,
And let thy power my love confine.