Desertion. Ps. 25. 16, 17; 69. 1, 2; 143. 4
J. Hart 112th
1
Deep in a cold, a joyless cell,
A doleful gulf of gloomy care,
Where dismal doubts and darkness dwell,
The dangerous brink of black despair;
Chilled by the icy damps of death,
I feel no firm support of faith.
2
[How can a burdened cripple rise?
How can a fettered captive flee?
Ah! Lord, direct my wishful eyes,
And let me look, at least, to thee.
Alas! my sinking spirits droop;
I scarce perceive a glimpse of hope.]
3
Extend thy mercy, gracious God;
Thy quickening Spirit vouchsafe to send;
Apply the reconciling blood,
And kindly call thy foe thy friend;
Or, if rich cordials thou deny,
Let patience comfort’s place supply.
4
Let hope survive, though damped by doubt;
Do thou defend my battered shield;
O let me never quite give out;
Help me to keep the bloody field;
Lord, look upon the unequal strife;
Delay not, lest I lose my life.
