Scripture Verse

O Lord, rebuke me not in Thy wrath. Neither chasten me in Thy hot displeasure, for Thine arrows stick fast in me, and Thy hand presseth me sore. Psalm 38:1–2

Introduction

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Isaac Watts (1674–1748)

Words: Is­aac Watts, The Psalms of Da­vid 1719. Guilt of con­sci­ence and re­lief; or, re­pent­ance and pray­er for par­don and health.

Music: Par­ker Karl P. Har­ring­ton, in The Me­tho­dist Hym­nal (New York: Me­tho­dist Book Con­cern, 1905) (🔊 pdf nwc).

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Karl P. Harrington (1861–1953)

Lyrics

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.