The Inward Warfare

Strange and mysterious is my life, What opposites I feel within! A stable peace, a constant strife, The rule of grace, the pow'r of sin: Too often I am captive led, Yet daily triumph in my Head. I prize the privilege of prayer, But o! what backwardness to pray! Though on the Lord I cast my care, I feel its burden every day: I seek his will in all I do, Yet find my own is working too. I call the promises my own, And prize them more than mines of gold; Yet though their sweetness I have known, They leave me unimpressed and cold One hour upon the truth I feed, The next I know not what I read. I love the holy day of rest, When Jesus meets his gathered saints; Sweet day, of all the week the best! For its return my spirit pants: Yet often, through my unbelief, It proves a day of guilt and grief. While on my Saviour I rely, I know my foes shall loose their aim; And therefore dare their pow'r defy, Assured of conquest through his name: But soon my confidence is slain, And all my fears return again. Thus different pow'rs within me strive, And grace, and sin, by turns prevail; I grieve, rejoice, decline, revive, And vict'ry hangs in doubtful scale: But Jesus has his promise passed, That grace shall overcome at last.