Amidst Thy wrath re­mem­ber love,
Restore Thy ser­vant, Lord;
Nor let a Fa­ther’s chast­en­ing prove
Like an av­eng­er’s sword.

Thine ar­rows stick with­in my heart,
My flesh is sore­ly pressed;
Between the sor­row and the smart
My spir­it finds no rest.

My sins a hea­vy load ap­pear,
And o’er my head are gone;
Too hea­vy they for me to bear,
Too hard for me t’a­tone.

My thoughts are like a trou­bled sea,
My head still bend­ing down;
And I go mourn­ing all the day,
Beneath my Fa­ther’s frown.

Lord, I am weak and brok­en sore,
None of my pow­ers are whole:
The in­ward ang­uish makes me roar,
The ang­uish of my soul.

All my de­sire to Thee is known,
Thine eye counts ev­ery tear;
And ev­ery sigh, and ev­ery groan,
Is noticed by Thine ear.

Thou art my God, my on­ly hope;
My God will hear my cry;
My God will bear my spir­it up,
When Sa­tan bids me die.

My foot is ev­er apt to slide,
My foes re­joice to see’t;
They raise their plea­sure and their pride
When they sup­plant my feet.

But I’ll con­fess my guilt to Thee,
And grieve for all my sin;
I’ll mourn how weak my grac­es be,
And beg sup­port di­vine.

My God, for­give my fol­lies past,
And be for ev­er nigh;
O Lord of my sal­va­tion, haste,
Before Thy ser­vant die.