1 When my pray'rs are a burden and task,
No wonder I little receive;
O Lord, make me willing to ask,
Since thou art so ready to give.
Altho, I am bought with thy blood,
And all thy salvation is mine;
At distance from thee, my chief good,
I wander and languish, and pine.
2 Of thy goodness of old when I read,
To those who were sinners like me;
Why may I not wrestle, and plead,
With them a partaker to be?
Thine arm is not shorten'd since then,
And those who believe in thy name;
Ever find thou art yea, and amen,
Thro' all generations the same.
3 While my spirit within me is prest,
With sorrow, temptation, and fear,
Like John I would lean on thy breast,
And pour my complaints in thine ear.
How happy and favor'd was he,
Who cou'd on thy bosom repose!
Might this favor be granted to me,
I'd smile at the rage of my foes.
4 I have heard of thy wonderful name,
How great and exalted thou art;
But oh! I confess to my shame,
It faintly impresses my heart:
The beams of thy glory display,
As Peter once saw thee appear,
That transported like him I may say,
It is good for my soul to be here.
5 What sorrow and weight didst thou feel,
When nail'd for my sake to the tree!
My heart sure is harder than steel,
To feel no more sorrow for thee:
Oh let me with Thomas descry,
The wounds in thy hands, and thy side;
And have feelings like his when I cry,
My God, and my Savior hath dy'd.
6 If thou hast appointed me still,
To wrestle, and suffer, and fight;
O make me resign'd to thy will,
For all thine appointments are right.
This mercy at least I entreat,
That knowing how vile I have been;
I with Mary, may wait at thy feet
And weep o'er the pardon of sin.