Thomas Parnell

The Soul in Sorrow

With kind compassion hear my cry
O Jesu, Lord of life, on high!
As when the Summer's seasons beat
With scorching flame and parching heat,
The trees are burnt, the flowers fade,
And thirsty gaps in earth are made,
My thoughts of comfort languish so,
And so my soul is broke by woe.
Then on thy servant's drooping head,
Thy dews of blessing sweetly shed;
Let those a quick refreshment give
And raise my mind, and bid me live.
My fears of danger while I breath,
My dread of endless hell beneath,
My sense of sorrow for my sin,
To springing comfort, change within,
Change all my sad complaints for ease,
To chearful notes of endless praise;
Nor let a tear mine eyes employ
But such as owe their birth to joy:
Joy transporting sweet and strong,
Fit to fill and raise my song,
Joy that shall resounded be
While days and nights succeed for me:
Be not as a Judge severe,
For so thy presence who may bear?
On all my words and actions look,
(I know they're written in thy book)
But then regard my mournful cry
And look with Mercy's gracious eye,
What needs my blood since thine will do
To pay the debt to justice due.
O tender mercy's art divine!
Thy sorrow proves the cure of mine,
Thy dropping wounds, thy woful smart,
Allay the bleedings of my heart:
Thy death, in death's extreme of pain,
Restores my soul to life again.
Guide me then for here I burn
To make my Saviour some return.
I'll rise, (if that will please him still
And sure I've heard him own it will)
I'll trace his steps and bear my cross
Despising ev'ry grief and loss;
Since he despising pain and shame,
First took up his, and did the same.