December 13, 1760
’Tis sin disorders all my frame,
Nor can this world afford me rest;
The law does nothing but condemn,
In Christ alone can I be blest.
’Tis his grace, ’tis in his blood,
I sweet refreshment hope to find;
His blood can cleanse my crimson guilt,
His grace can bow my stubborn mind.
Prostrate beneath his feet I wait,
For a kind look, or quick’nng word;
Shine in on my distressed soul
My King, my Saviour, .and my Lord.
Here you have the language of my lips, the language of my pen, and I trust the language of my heart. Though I find it hard to pray to God, and harder still to wait for God. “I waited patiently for the Lord,” says David. O that is not as easy a thing as some may account it. We are apt to kick against the pricks, to rebel under the smarting rod, and accuse God of severity, when he does not immediately bestow the promised and expected blessings. I have much reason to complain of a stubborn and untractable heart, an unsubmissive temper of mind.