I have cried day and night before Thee. Let my prayer come before Thee; incline Thine ear unto my cry, for my soul is full of troubles, and my life draweth nigh unto the grave. Psalm 88:1–3
Words: Timothy Dwight, The Psalms of David (New Haven, Connecticut: Hudson & Goodwin, 1808).
Repentance induced by sickness.
If you know where to get a good picture of Chetham (head & shoulders, at least 200×300 pixels),
Stretched on the bed of grief,
In silence long I lay;
For sore disease and wasting pain
Had worn my strength away.
Just o’er the grave I hung;
No pardon met my eyes;
As blessings never greet the slain,
And hope shall never rise.
Sweet mercy to my soul
Revealed no charming ray;
Before me rose a long, dark night,
With no succeeding day.
I saw beyond the tomb,
The awful Judge appear
Prepared to scan with strict account
My blessings wasted here.
Then O how vain appeared
The joys beneath the sky!
Like visions past, like flowers that blow,
When wintry storms are nigh.
How mourned my sinking soul
The Sabbath’s hours divine,
The day of grace, that precious day;
Consumed in sense and sin.
Then to the Lord I prayed,
And raised a bitter cry—
Hear me, O God, and save my soul,
Lest I forever die.
He heard my humble cry;
He saved my soul from death;
To Him I’ll give my heart and hands,
And consecrate my breath.
Ye sinners, fear the Lord,
While yet ’tis called today:
Soon will the awful voice of death
Command your souls away.
Soon will the harvest close;
The summer soon be o’er;
And soon your injured, angry God
Will hear your prayers no more.