What a Mournful Life Is Mine

What a mourn­ful life is mine

Filled with cross­es

pains and cares!

Every work de­filed with sin

Every step be­set with snares!

If alone I pen­sive sit

I my­self can hard­ly bear;

If I pass along the street

Sin and ri­ot tri­umph there.

Jesus! how my heart is pained

How it mourns for souls de­ceived!

When I hear Thy name pro­faned

When I see Thy Spir­it grieved!

When Thy child­ren’s griefs I view

Their dis­tress be­comes my own;

All I hear

or see

or do

Makes me trem­ble

weep and groan.

Mourning thus I long had been

When I heard my Sav­ior’s voice;

Thou hast cause to mourn for sin

But in Me thou may’st re­joice.

This kind word dis­pelled my grief

Put to si­lence my com­plaints;

Though of sin­ners I am chief

He has ranked me with His saints.

Though con­strained to dwell awhile

Where the wick­ed strive and brawl;

Let them frown

so He but smile

Heav’n will make amends for all.

There

be­liev­ers

we shall rest

Free from sor­row

sin and fears;

Nothing there our peace mo­lest

Through eter­nal rounds of years.

Let us then the fight en­dure

See our cap­tain look­ing down;

He will make the con­quest sure

And be­stow the pro­mised crown.