Dwelling in Mesech

What a mournful life is mine, Fill’d with crosses, pains, and cares! Every work denied with sin, Every step beset with snares.

If alone I pensive sit, I myself can hardly bear; If I pass along the street, Sin and riot triumph there.

Jesus! how my heart is pain’d, How it mourns for souls deceived— When I hear thy name profaned, When I see thy Spirit grieved!

When thy children’s griefs I view, Their distress becomes my own; All I hear or see or do Makes me tremble, weep, and groan.

Mourning thus I long had been When I heard my Saviour’s voice: “Thou hast cause to mourn for sin, But in me thou may’st rejoice.”

This kind word dispell’d my grief, Put to silence my complaints; Though of sinners I am chief, He has rank’d me with his saints.

Though constrain’d to dwell a while Where the wicked strive and brawl, Let them frown—so he but smile, Heav’n will make amends for all.

There, believers, we shall rest, Free from sorrow, sin, and fears; Nothing there our peace molest Through eternal rounds of years.

Let us then the fight endure.— See our Captain looking down: He will make the conquest sure, And bestow the promised crown.