Holy Anxiety
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2 "Deny thyself and take thy cross," Is the Redeemer's great command; Nature must count her gold but dross, If she would gain the heavenly land.
3 The fearful soul that tires and faints, And walks the ways of God no more, Is but esteem'd almost a saint, And makes his own destruction sure.
4 Lord, let not all my hopes be vain; Create my heart entirely new, Which hypocrites could ne'er attain, Which false apostates never know. Isaac Watts, 1706. |
637 What anxious fears and jealousies! What crowds in doubtful light appear! How few, alas! approved and clear!
2 And what am I?—My soul awake, And an impartial prospect take; Does no dark sign, no ground of fear, In practice, or in heart appear?
3 What image does my spirit bear? Is Jesus form'd, and living there? Say. do His lineaments divine In thought, and word, and action shine?
4 Searcher of hearts, oh search me still, The secrets of my soul reveal: My fears remove; let me appear To God, and my own conscience, clear!
5 Scatter the clouds that o'er my head Thick glooms of dubious terrors spread; Lead me into celestial day, And to myself myself display.
6 May I at that bless'd world arrive, Where Christ through all my soul shall live, And give full proof that He is there, Without one gloomy doubt or fear. President Davies, 1769. |
638 Then tell me. gracious God, is mine A contrite heart or no?
2 I hear, but seem to hear in vain, Insensible as steel; If aught is felt, 'tis only pain To find I cannot feel.
3 I sometimes think myself inclined To love Thee if I could; But often feel another mind, Averse to all that's good.
4 My best desires are faint and few, I fain would strive for more! But when I cry, "My strength renew," Seem weaker than before.
5 Thy saints are comforted, I know, And love Thy house of prayer! I sometimes go where others go, But find no comfort there.
6 Oh make this heart rejoice or ache! Decide this doubt for me; And, if it be not broken, break, And heal it, if it be. William Cowper, 1779 |
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639 1 DO not I love Thee, O my Lord? Behold my heart and see; And turn each odious idol out That dares to rival Thee.
2 Do not I love Thee from my tool? Then let me nothing love: Dead be my heart to every joy, When Jesus cannot move.
3 Is not Thy name melodious still To mine attentive ear? Doth not each pulse with pleasure b land, My Saviour's voice to bear?
4 Hast Thou a lamb in all Thy flock I would disdain to feed? Hast Thou a foe, before whose face I fear Thy cause to plead?
5 Would not my ardent spirit vie With angels round the throne, To execute Thy sacred will, And make Thy glory known?
6 Would not my heart pour forth its blood In honour of Thy name, And challenge the cold hand of death To damp the immortal flame?
7 Thou know'st I love Thee, dearest Lord; But oh, I long to soar Far from the sphere of mortal joys, And learn to love Thee more. Philip Doddridge, 1755. |
640
2 Is there no spark of gratitude In this cold heart of mine, To Him whose generous bosom glow'd With friendship all divine?
3 Can I pronounce His charming name, His acts of kindness tell; And while I dwell upon the theme, No sweet emotion feel?
4 Such base ingratitude as this What heart but must detest! Sure Christ deserves the noblest place In every human breast.
5 A very wretch, Lord! I should prove, Had I no love for Thee: Rather than not my Saviour love, Oh may I cease to be! Samuel Stennett, 1787 |
641 1 SEARCHER of hearts, before Thy face, I all my soul display: And, conscious of its innate arts, Entreat Thy strict survey.
2 If, lurking in its inmost folds, I any sin conceal, Oh let a ray of light divine That secret guile reveal.
3 If tinctured with that odious gall Unknowing I remain. Let grace, like a pure silver stream, Wash out the accursed stain.
4 If in these fatal fetters bound, A wretched slave I lie, Smite off my chains, and wake my soul To light and liberty.
5 To humble penitence and prayer Be gentle pity given; Speak ample pardon to my heart, And seal its claim to heaven. Philip Doddridge, 1755. |
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642 1 WAS it for me, dear Lord, for me, Thou didst endure such pain and grief; For me, the direful agony, That knew not limit or relief? Was it for me? Was it for me?
2 Was it for me the mocking scorn, While love perfumed Thy passing breath; The rude contumely meekly borne, Thy soul desertion unto death? Was it for me? Was it for me?
3 Was it for me, Thou Lord of light, Thy path through darkness to the grave; For me, the triumph infinite, When Thou didst rise, and live to save? Was it for me? Was it for me?
4 Was it for me, Lord Christ! for me, Ascending high, Thy mission done, Saviour to all eternity, In heaven Thou didst resume Thy throne? Was it for me? Was it for me? Henry Bateman, 1862. |
643 Sinful men and vain professors, Self-deceived, the passage miss; Rushing headlong, Down they sink the dread abyss.
2 Sins and follies unforsaken, All will end in deep despair; Formal prayers are unvailing, Fruitless is the worlding's tear; Small the number Who to wisdom's path repair.
3 Thou who art Thy people's guardian, Condescend my guide to be; By Thy Spirit's light unerring, Let me Thy salvation see: May I never Miss the way that leads to Thee. Benjamin Beddome, 1818. |
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2 What crowds of evil thoughts, What vile affections there! Envy and pride, deceit and guile, Distrust and slavish fear.
3 Almighty King of saints, These tyrant lusts subdue; Drive the old serpent from his seat, And all my powers renew.
4 This done, my cheerful voice Shall loud hosannas raise; My soul shall glow with gratitude, My lips proclaim Thy praise. Benjamin Beddome, 1818 |