Poor Wildered Weeping Heart

Poor, wildered, weeping heart,
What can relieve thee?
Come, sinful as thou art,
Christ will receive thee:
Come, though with woes opprest,
Soft is thy Saviour’s breast,
There mayst thou sweetly rest,
There naught can grieve thee.

Come, trembling, timid soul,
Why this delaying?
Thunders that o’er thee roll,
Fall on thee straying:
Turn from destruction’s ways,
Turn to the throne of grace,
There seek thy Father’s face,
Weeping and praying.

Hence, guilty fear and doubt,
Leave me for ever:
Lord, wilt thou cast me out?
Never, oh, never!
From unbelief of mind,
From thoughts to sin inclined,
From flesh and hell combined,
Thou wilt deliver.