Though Sorrows Rise And Dangers Roll


Though sorrows rise and dangers roll,
In waves of darkness o’er my soul;
Though friends are false, and love decays,
And few and evil are my days;
Though conscience, fiercest of my foes,
Swells with remembered guilt my woes;
Yet ev’n in nature’s utmost ill,
I love thee, Lord, I love thee still!

Though Sinai’s curse, in thunder dread,
Peals o’er mine unprotected head,
And memory points, with busy pain,
To grace and mercy given in vain;
Till nature, shrinking in the strife,
Would fly to hell to ‘scape from life;
Though every thought has power to kill,
I love thee, Lord, I love thee still!

Oh, by the pangs thyself hast borne,
The ruffian’s blow, the tyrant’s scorn,
By Sinai’s curse, whose dreadful doom
Was buried in thy guiltless tomb;
By these my pangs, whose healing smart,
Thy grace hath planted in my heart-
I know, I feel thy bounteous will,
Thou lov’st me, Lord, thou lov’st me still!