Come, my soul, and let us try
For a little season,
Ev’ry burden to lay by;
Come, and let us reason.
What is this that casts you down,
Who are those that grieve you?
Speak and let the worst be known;
Speaking may relieve thee.

O, I sink beneath the load
Of my nature’s evil!
Full of enmity to God;
Captived by the devil.
Restless as the troubled seas,
Feeble, faint, and fearful;
Plagued with ev’ry sore disease,
How can I be cheerful?

Think on what thy Savior bore
In the gloomy garden;
Sweating blood at ev’ry pore,
To procure thy pardon.
See him stretched upon the wood,
Bleeding, grieving, crying!
Suff’ring all the wrath of God,
Groaning, gasping, dying.

This by faith I sometimes view,
And those views relieve me;
But my sins return anew;
These are they that grieve me.
O, Im leprous, filthy, foul,
Quite throughout infected!
Have not I, if any soul,
Cause to be dejected?

Think how loud thy dying Lord,
Cried out, “It is finished”
Treasure up that sacred word,
Whole and undiminished
Doubt not, He will carry on,
To its full perfection,
That good work He has begun;
Why then this dejection?

Faith, when void of works is dead;
This the scriptures witness;
And what works have I to plead,
Who am all unfitness?
All my powers are depraved,
Blind, perverse and filthy;
If from death I’m fully saved,
Why am I not healthy?

Pore not on thyself too long,
Lest it sink thee lower;
Look to Jesus, kind as strong,
Mercy joined with power.
Ev’ry work that thou must do,
Will thy gracious Savior
For thee work, and in thee too,
Of His special favor.

Jesus’ precious blood once spilt,
I depend on solely,
To release and bear my guilt; But
I would be holy.
He that bought you on the cross
Can control thy nature:
Fully purge away thy dross;
Make thee a new creature.

That He can, I nothing doubt,
Be it but His pleasure;
Tho it be not done throughout,
May it not in measure?
When that measure, far from great
Still shall seem decreasing?
Faint not, then, but pray and wait,
Never, never ceasing.

What! when prayer meets no regard?
Still repeat it often.
But I feel myself so hard.
Jesus will thee soften.
But my enemies make head.
Let them closer drive thee.
But I’m cold, I’m dark, I’m dead.
Jesus will revive thee.

Recordings 1