My bosom was designed to be

My bosom was designed to be
A house of prayer, O Lord for thee,
A temple undefiled;
But vile outrageous thieves broke in,
And turned the house into a den,
And all its glory spoiled.

There anger lies, and lust, and pride,
And envy base its head will hide,
And malice brooding ill;
There unbelief the Lord denies,
And falsehood whispers out its lies,
And avarice gripeth still.

Thy help, Almighty Lord, impart,
And drag the tyrants from my heart,
And chase the thieves away;
Within my bosom fix thy throne,
And there be loved and served alone,
And teach me how to pray.

The work is thine to cleanse the place;
I can but look up for thy grace,
Nor this without thy aid;
Then let thy indignation burn,
And all thy foes o'erturn, o'erturn,
And rear again my head.