From the Olney Hymns
On the Spiritual Life
And mourns, with much and frequent smart,
The evil it contains.
There fiery seeds of anger lurk,
Which often hurt my frame;
And wait but for the tempter’s work,
To fan them to a flame.
Legality holds out a bribe
To purchase life from thee;
And discontent would fain prescribe
How thou shalt deal with me.
While unbelief withstands thy grace;
And puts the mercy by;
Presumption, with a brow of brass,
Says, “Give me, or I die.”
How eager are my thoughts to roam
In quest of what they love!
But ah! when duty calls them home,
How heavily they move!
O, cleanse me in a Savior’s blood,
Transform me by thy pow’r,
And make me thy beloved abode,
And let me rove no more.