“O wretched man that I am.” Rom. 7. 13-24
J. Hart S.M.
1
How sore a plague is sin,
To those by whom ’tis felt!
The Christian cries, “Unclean, unclean!”
E’en though released from guilt.
2
O wretched, wretched man!
What horrid scenes I view!
I find, alas! do all I can,
That I can nothing do.
3
When good I would perform,
Through fear or shame I stop,
Corruption rises like a storm,
And blasts the promised crop.
4
[Of peace if I’m in quest,
Or love my thoughts engage,
Envy and anger in my breast
That moment rise and rage.]
5
[When for a humble mind
To God I pour my prayer,
I look into my heart, and find
That pride will still be there.]
6
How long, dear Lord, how long
Deliverance must I seek;
And fight with foes so very strong,
Myself so very weak?
7
I’ll bear the unequal strife,
And wage the war within;
Since death, that puts an end to life,
Shall put an end to sin.
