1 O could I find some peaceful bower,
Where sin has neither place nor power;
This traitor vile, I fain would shun,
But cannot from his presence run.
2 When to the throne of grace I flee,
He stands between my God and me,
Where'er I rove, where'er I rest,
I feel him working in my breast.
3 When I attempt to soar above,
To view the heights of Jesus' love;
This monster seems to mount the skies,
And veils my Saviour to mine eyes.
4 Lord, free me from this deadly foe,
Which keeps my faith and hope so low;
I long to dwell in heaven, my home,
Where not one sinful thought can come.
Source: The Book of Worship #217