“O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger.” Ps. 6. 1, 4

D. Herbert    C.M.

O Lord, rebuke me not in wrath;
Thy anger who can bear?
’Tis heaven to live beneath thy smiles;
Thy frowns create despair.

I’m but a mass of filthiness;
I own my wretched case;
O heal my loathsome, stinking wounds,
And magnify thy grace.

[Ah! must I die with this sad plague?
What! is thy pity gone?
Lord, look, and heal my broken bones;
O look on God the Son!]

On thee I’ll wait; in thee I’ll trust;
For thou art still my God;
Crush not my soul beneath thy hand,
O take away thy rod.

Lord, let not guilt thus plague my soul;
I would be rid of sin.
From head to foot I’m nought but wounds,
But, ah! I’m worse within.

[Within, O what a hellish crew!
Who knows what dwells within?
How oft some darling lust creeps out,
Some unsuspected sin!]

Lord Jesus, heal this malady,
And set my broken bones;
Let my petitions reach thy ears,
Though only sighs and groans.

Base as I am, yet, blessed Lord,
I dare to make this plea:
As Jesus died to save the lost,
Perhaps he died for me.


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