O God, and is it possible that one
So hardened, so immovable, should be
The object of Thy still enduring love ?
That yet Thou wouldst not leave me to my choice,
But sent Thy Spirit to save me from myself ? .
I've nothing to return Thee, but a heart
Sometimes with Thee, and sometimes on the earth;
Now soaring high above created things
In utter scorn of all the world calls greatest,
Pleasure or pain, and deems them all alike,
So it may rest upon a Saviour's love!
At other times-alas! why is it so?
It does but float upon this changeful world,
Like a light straw upon the ocean's bed;
Now up, now down, disturbed by every ripple:
And wilt Thou love me still, with such a poor return?
It seems impossible-but Thou hast said it,
And Thou hast proved it-oh, how much, how long!
And shall I add to the black catalogue
Of my ingratitude this closing sin,
Blackest of all, to doubt what Thou hast said? (Selected.)