1 I would, but cannot sing,
I would, but cannot pray;
For satan meets me when I try,
And frights my soul away.
2 I would, but can't repent,
Tho' I endeavour oft;
This stony heart can ne'er relent
Till Jesus makes it soft.
3 I would, but cannot love,
Tho' woo'd by love divine;
No arguments have pow'r to move
A soul so base as mine.
4 I would, but cannot rest
In God's most holy will;
I know what he appoints is best,
Yet murmur at it still.
5 O could I but believe!
Then all would easy be;
I would but cannot – Lord, relieve:
My help must come from thee.
6 But if indeed I would,
Tho' I can nothing do;
Yet the desire is something good,
For which my praise is due.
7 By nature prone to ill,
'Till thine appointed hour,
I was as destitute of will,
As now I am of power.
8 Wilt thou not crown at length,
The work thou hast begun?
And with a will, afford me strength,
In all thy ways to run.
Text Information | |
---|---|
First Line: | I would, but cannot sing |
Title: | Complaining—The Good that I would, I doanot |
Meter: | S. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1792 |
Scripture: | |
Topic: | The Christian; Christian: Complaining of sin and inconstancy; Complaint: Of inability to do good(2 more...) |
Notes: | Public Domain. |