The Good That I Would Do, I Do Not

I would, but cannot sing— Guilt has untuned my voice, The serpent sin’s envenom’d sting Has poison’d all my joys.

I know the Lord is nigh, And would, but cannot pray; For Satan meets me when I try, And frights my soul away.

I would, but can’t repent, Though I endeavour oft; This stony heart can ne’er relent Till Jesus make it soft.

I would, but cannot love, Though woo’d by love divine: No arguments have power to move A soul so base as mine.

I would, but cannot rest In God’s most holy will; I know what he appoints is best, Yet murmur at it still.

O could I but believe! Then all would easy be; I would, but cannot—Lord, relieve; My help must come from thee!

But if indeed I would, Though I can nothing do; Yet the desire is something good, For which my praise is due.

By nature prone to ill, Till thine appointed hour, I was as destitute of will, As now I am of power.

Wilt thou not crown at length The work thou hast begun, And with a will afford me strength In all thy ways to run?