If unbelief's that sin accursed,

If unbelief's that sin accursed,
Abhorred by God above,
Because, of all opposers worst,
It fights against his love,

How shall a heart that doubts like mine,
Dismayed at every breath,
Pretend to live the life divine,
Or fight the fight of faith?

Conscience accuses from within,
And others from without;
I feel my soul the sink of sin,
And this produces doubt.

When thousand sins, of various dyes,
Corruptions dark and foul,
Daily within my bosom rise,
And blacken all my soul,

I groan, and grieve, and cry, and call
On Jesus for relief;
But, that delayed, to doubting fall,
Of all my sins the chief.

Such dire disorders vex my soul,
That ill engenders ill;
And when my heart I feel so foul,
I make it fouler still.

In this distress, the course I take
Is still to call and pray,
And wait the time when Christ shall speak,
And drive my foes away.

For that blest hour I sigh and pant,
With wishes warm and strong;
But dearest Lord, lest these should faint,
O do not tarry long.