Classic Poem

O this soul, how dark and blind
O this foolish, earthly mind:
This ever froward, selfish will,
Which refuses to be still!

O these ever roaming eyes,
Upward that refuse to rise;
These still wayward feet of mine,
Found in every path but thine!

O these pulses felt within,
Beating for the world and sin;
Sending round the fevered blood,
In a fierce and carnal flood!

O this stubborn prayerless knee,
Hands so seldom clasped to thee,
Longings of the soul that go,
Like the wild wind to and fro;

To and fro without an aim,
Returning idly whence they came,
Bringing in no joy, no bliss,—
Adding to my weariness!

Giver of the heavenly peace,
Bid, O bid, these tumults cease;
Minister thy holy balm,
Fill me with thy Spirit's calm.

Thou the life, the truth, the way,
Leave me not in sin to stray;
Bearer of the sinner's guilt,
Lead me, lead me, as Thou wilt.