This anguish of spirit, this sad state of the soul,
I must bear though I may not submit.
God is just though I perish, his throne remains pure,
However many he may not acquit.
Oh! for one gleam of hope, thus to break the dread spell,
By which I in misery seem bound;
Naught of earth, but the power of Heaven must heal
Sin’s painful, sin’s deep, bleeding wound.
Should I ever again meet the smiles of my God,
Should I ever his praise again sing,