Henry Charles Beeching, ed. (1859–1919). Lyra Sacra: A Book of Religious Verse. 1903.
By A. W.“Though late, my heart, yet turn at last”
| THOUGH late, my heart, yet turn at last, | |
| And shape thy course another way; | |
| ’Tis better lose thy labour past | |
| Than follow on to sure decay: | |
| What though thou long have strayed awry? | 5 |
| In hope of grace for mercy cry. | |
| Though weight of sin doth press thee down | |
| And keep thee grovelling on the ground; | |
| Though black Despair, with angry frown, | |
| Thy wit and judgment quite confound; | 10 |
| Though time and wit have been misspent, | |
| Yet grace is left if thou repent. | |
| Weep then, my heart, weep still and still, | |
| Nay, melt to floods of flowing tears; | |
| Send out such shrieks as heaven may fill | 15 |
| And pierce thine angry Judge’s ears, | |
| And let thy soul that harbours sin, | |
| Bleed streams of blood to drown it in. | |
| Then shall thine angry Judge’s face | |
| To cheerful looks itself apply; | 20 |
| Then shall thy soul be filled with grace, | |
| And fear of death constrained to fly. | |
| Even so, my God! oh when? how long? | |
| I would, but sin is too, too strong. | |
| I strive to rise, sin keeps me down; | 25 |
| I fly from sin, sin follows me. | |
| My will doth reach at glory’s crown; | |
| Weak is my strength, it will not be. | |
| See how my fainting soul doth pant; | |
| Oh, let Thy strength supply my want. | 30 |