A HYMN.

By Henry Kirk White

O Lord, my God, in mercy turn,

In mercy hear a sinner mourn!

To thee I call, to thee I cry,

O leave me, leave me not to die!

I strove against thee, Lord, I know,

I spurn'd thy grace, I mock'd thy law;

The hour is past — the day's gone by,

And I am left alone to die.

O pleasures past, what are ye now

But thorns about my bleeding brow!

Spectres that hover round my brain,

And aggravate and mock my pain.

For pleasure I have given my soul;

Now, Justice, let thy thunders roll!

Now, Vengeance, smile — and with a blow

Lay the rebellious ingrate low.

Yet, Jesus, Jesus! there I'll cling,

I'll crowd beneath his sheltering wing;

I'll clasp the cross, and holding there,

Even me, oh bliss!— his wrath may spare.