8 Lord, though we are but feeble worms,
Yet since thy word is past,
We ll venture through a thousand storms,
To see thy face at last.
126.
The Good that I would do, I do not.—Rom. vii, 19.
1 I WOULD, but cannot sing,
Guilt has untuned my voice,
The serpent sin s envenom d sting
Has poison d all my joys.
2 I know the Lord is nigh,
And would, but cannot pray ;
For Satan meets me when I try,
And frights my soul away.
3 I would, but can t repent,
Though I endeavour oft;
This stony heart can ne er relent
Till Jesus make it soft.
4 I would, but cannot love,
Though woo d by love divine :
No arguments have power to move
A soul so base as mine.
5 I would, but cannot rest
In God s most holy will ;
I know what he appoints is best,
Yet murmur at it still.
6 could I but believe !
Then all would easy be :
I would, but cannot Lord, relieve ;
My help must come from thee !
7 But if indeed I would,
Though I can nothing do ;
Yet the desire is something good,
For which my praise is due.
