Lord, wilt thou hear a sinner’s plea,
Who humbly begs one thing of thee?
Oh! make my drooping soul alive,
The day that I am twenty-five.

Twenty years of my life has flown,
Before I heat’d an heart-felt groan;

I then was fill’d with worldly life,

And knew nought of the painful strife,

Which since I’ve found within me reign,
Which causeth sorrow, grief end pain;
For when I would do good, I find

That evil will crowd in my mind.

But things which once gave me delight,
No longer are a pleasing sight,
Their power is lost to charm or please—
In fact they only vex and teaze.

I find, indeed, they’re with me still,
Though surely ’tis against my will;
For I would gladly drive away

All things that lead my mind astray.

A wilderness I’m trav’ling through,
And hardly know which way to go:
For when I think, soon ’twill be right,
How quickly after comes the night!

And then I grope to find my way,

And take such paths that lead astray;
Wild ravenous beasts there too I meet,
And traps, and gine, t’ ensnare my feet.

When in this sad and dreadful plight,
I sometimes cry with all my might

To God, to cheer my gloomy way,
With one believing heavenly ray.

But ’tis not always I can call,

For oftentimes asleep I fall;

Then scarcely a desire have I

To be arous’d, though danger’s nigh.

But when I wake, ’tis then I see,
How many dangers threaten me;
What deadly and malicious foes,
My journey onward do oppose.

Oh! how this sleepy state I dread!

For though we sleep, satan’s not dead:
That is his time to venture in

With every deadly pois’nous sin.

But though he comes with deadly aim,
To All my soul with grief and shame;

He cannot keep my wishful eyes,
From Him who dwells above the skies.

For Him I sigh, for Him I pine,

Oh dearest Jesus; am I thine!

If so I am, do swiftly come;

Nor let me from thee, ever roam.

Do, dearest Lord, do let this be,

A special birth-day unto me:

Let not my foes, Lord, be alive,

The day that I am twenty-five.



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