Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By A. W.Though late, my heart, yet turn at last
THOUGH late, my heart, yet turn at last, | |
And shape thy course another way; | |
’Tis better lose thy labour past | |
Than follow on to sure decay: | |
What though thou long have strayed awry? | 5 |
In hope of grace for mercy cry. | |
Though weight of sin doth press thee down | |
And keep thee grovelling on the ground; | |
Though black Despair, with angry frown, | |
Thy wit and judgment quite confound; | 10 |
Though time and wit have been misspent, | |
Yet grace is left if thou repent. | |
Weep then, my heart, weep still and still, | |
Nay, melt to floods of flowing tears; | |
Send out such shrieks as heaven may fill | 15 |
And pierce thine angry Judge’s ears, | |
And let thy soul that harbours sin, | |
Bleed streams of blood to drown it in. | |
Then shall thine angry Judge’s face | |
To cheerful looks itself apply; | 20 |
Then shall thy soul be filled with grace, | |
And fear of death constrained to fly. | |
Even so, my God! oh when? how long? | |
I would, but sin is too, too strong. | |
I strive to rise, sin keeps me down; | 25 |
I fly from sin, sin follows me. | |
My will doth reach at glory’s crown; | |
Weak is my strength, it will not be. | |
See how my fainting soul doth pant; | |
Oh, let Thy strength supply my want. | 30 |