Amidst Thy wrath, remember love;
restore Thy servant, LORD;
nor let a father’s chast’ning prove
like an avenger’s sword.

Thine arrows stick within my heart:
my flesh is sorely pressed;
between the sorrow and the smart
my spirit finds no rest.

My sins a heavy load appear,
and o’er my head are gone;
too heavy they for me to bear,
too hard for me to atone.

My thoughts are like a troubled sea,
my head still bending down;
and I go mourning all the day
beneath my Father’s frown.

Lord, I am weak, and broken sore,
none of my pow’rs are whole;
the inward anguish makes me roar,
the anguish of my soul.

All my desire to Thee is known,
Thine eye counts every tear;
and every sigh, and every groan
is noticed by Thine ear.

Thou art my God, my only hope;
my God will hear me cry,
my God will bear my spirit up,
when Satan bids me die.

My foot is ever apt to slide,
my foes rejoice to see’t;
they raise their pleasure and their pride
when they supplant my feet.

But I’ll confess my guilt to Thee,
and grieve for all my sin;
I’ll mourn how weak my graces be,
and beg support divine.

My God, forgive my follies past,
and be for ever nigh;
O Lord of my salvation haste,
before Thy servant die!

—Isaac Watts, 1719