The Contrite Heart. - Isaiah lvii.15.

A poem by William Cowper

The Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no?


I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;
If aught is felt, ‘tis only pain
To find I cannot feel.


I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that’s good.


My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more:
But when I cry, “My strength renew,”
Seem weaker than before.


Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.


O make this heart rejoice or ache;
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken, break,
And heal it if it be.

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