In the black,
dismal dungeon of despair,
Palmed with tormenting care,
Wrecked with my fears,
Drowned in my tears,
With dreadful expectation
of my doom,
I'm certain I'm judg
ment soon to come.
Lord, here I lie, lost to hope of liberty,
hence nev er to remove,
but by a miracle of love,
which I scarce never hoped
for or expect,
Being guilty of so long,
so great neglect.
Fool that I was, were thee a sharp rod
To snide thy courting,
O my God!
For thou didst fool, entreat,
and grieve,
Distbeg me to be happy and to live,
But I would not, I chose to dwell with death,
Far, far from thee, far,
far from thee,
Too near to hell.
But is there no redemption,
no relief, Jesus?
Is there no redemption, no relief
Thou say'st to Magdalene,
a thief,
Is there no redemption, no relief?
O Jesus, thy mercy, Lord,
once more advance,
O give me,
O give me such a glance,
O give me such a glance as Peter had.
Thy sweet, chiding look
will change my heart
as it did melt that rock.
Look on me, sweet Jesus,
as Thou didst on Him.
Tis more than to create,
plus the arms to re deem.