Alas, My Aching Heart

Alas

my ach­ing heart!

Here the keen tor­ment lies;

It racks my wak­ing hours with smart

And frights my slum­ber­ing eyes.

Guilt will be hid no more

My griefs take vent apace

The crimes that blot my con­science o’er

Flush crim­son in my face.

My sor­rows like a flood

Impatient of re­straint

Into Thy bo­som

O my God

Pour out a long com­plaint.

This im­pi­ous heart of mine

Could once de­fy the Lord

Could rush with vio­lence on to sin

In pre­sence of Thy sword.

As oft­en have I stood

A re­bel to the skies

The calls

the ten­ders of a God

And mer­cy’s loud­est cries.

He of­fers all His grace

And all His heav­en to me;

Offers! But ’tis to sense­less brass

That can nor feel nor see.

Jesus the Sav­ior stands

To court me from ab­ove

And looks and spreads His wound­ed hands

And shows the prints of love.

But I

a stu­pid fool

How long have I with­stood

The bless­ings pur­chased with His soul

And paid for all in blood?

The heav’n­ly Dove came down

And ten­der­ed me His wings

To mount me up­ward to a crown

And bright im­mor­tal things.

Lord

I’m ashamed to say

That I re­fused Thy Dove

And sent Thy Spir­it grieved away

To His own realms of love.

Nor all Thine heav’n­ly charms

Nor Thy re­veng­ing hand

Could force me to lay down my arms

And bow to Thy com­mand.

Lord

’tis against Thy face

My sins like ar­rows rise

And yet

and yet

O match­less grace

Thy thun­der si­lent lies.

O shall I nev­er feel

The melt­ings of Thy love?

Am I of such hell-hard­ened steel

That mer­cy can­not move?

Now for one pow­er­ful glance

Dear Sav­ior

from Thy face!

This re­bel heart no more with­stands

But sinks be­neath Thy grace.

O’ercome by dy­ing love I fall

And at Thy cross I lie;

I throw my flesh

my soul

my all

And weep

and love

and die.

Rise

says the Prince of mer­cy

rise;

With joy and pi­ty in His eyes:

“Rise and be­hold My wound­ed veins;

Here flows the blood to wash thy stains.

See

My great Fa­ther’s re­con­ciled

He said

and lo

the Fa­ther smiled;

The joy­ful cher­ubs clapped their wings

And sound­ed grace on all their strings.