Backslider's complaint

1 O how sore a thing and grievous,
Is it from our God to run;
When we force our God to leave us,
Wretched are we and undone.

2 Are we not our own tormentors,
When from happiness we flee?
Yes, my soul, the iron enters,
Sin is perfect misery.

3 I the bitter cup have tasted,
Still I drink the mingled gall;
Still my soul by sin lies wasted,
Unrecovered from its fall.

4 Still beneath his frown I languish;
God, from whom I would depart,
Leaves me to my grief and anguish,
Gives me up to my own heart.

5 Pain and curse I now inherit,
Fears and wars and storms within;
Grief and agony of spirit
Sin chastising me for sin.

6 Ye who now enjoy his favor,
Husband well the precious grace;
Never lose, like me, your Savior,
Never break from his embrace.

7 Do not by your lightness grieve him,
Youthful lusts and idols flee;
Little children never leave him,
Never grieve your God like me.

8 Pray and when the answer's given:
When you find the passage free:
When your prayers have opened heaven,
Faithful souls, remember me.

Hymns and Spiritual Songs for the use of Christians, 1803