A Hymn

O Lord, my God, in mercy turn, In mercy hear a sinner mourn! To thee I call, to thee I cry, O leave me, leave me not to die! I strove against thee, Lord, I know, I spurn'd thy grace, I mock'd thy law; The hour is past-the day's gone by, And I am left alone to die. O pleasures past, what are ye now But thorns about my bleeding brow! Spectres that hover round my brain, And aggravate and mock my pain. For pleasure I have given my soul; Now, Justice, let thy thunders roll! Now, Vengeance, smile-and with a blow Lay the rebellious ingrate low. Yet, Jesus, Jesus! there I'll cling, I'll crowd beneath his sheltering wing; I'll clasp the cross, and holding there, Even me, oh bliss!-his wrath may spare.