What a mournful life is mine,
Filled with crosses, pains and cares!
Every work defiled with sin,
Every step beset with snares!

If alone I pensive sit,
I myself can hardly bear;
If I pass along the street,
Sin and riot triumph there.

Jesus! how my heart is pained,
How it mourns for souls deceived!
When I hear Thy name profaned,
When I see Thy Spi­rit grieved!

When Thy children’s griefs I view,
Their distress becomes my own;
All I hear, or see, or do,
Makes me tremble, weep and groan.

Mourning thus I long had been,
When I heard my Sav­ior’s voice;
Thou hast cause to mourn for sin,
But in Me thou may’st rejoice.

This kind word dispelled my grief,
Put to silence my complaints;
Though of sinners I am chief,
He has ranked me with His saints.

Though constrained to dwell awhile
Where the wicked strive and brawl;
Let them frown, so He but smile,
Heav’n will make amends for all.

There, believers, we shall rest,
Free from sorrow, sin and fears;
Nothing there our peace molest,
Through eter­nal rounds of years.

Let us then the fight endure,
See our captain looking down;
He will make the conquest sure,
And bestow the promised crown.