|Location in The Sacred Harp|
O That I knew the secret Place,
Where I might find my God!
I’d spread my Wants before his Face,
And pour my Woes abroad.
I’d tell him how my Sins arise,
What Sorrows I sustain;
How Grace decays, and Comfort dies,
And leaves my Heart in pain.
I’d say, “How Flesh and Sense rebel!
“What inward Foes combine
“With the vain World, and Powers of Hell,
“To vex this Soul of mine!”
He knows what Arguments I’d take,
To wrestle with my God;
I’d plead for this own Mercy’s sake,
And for my Saviour’s Blood.
My God will pity my Complaints,
And heal my broken Bones:
He takes the Meaning of his Saints,
The Language of their Groans.
Arise, my Soul, from deep Distress,
And banish every Fear;
He calls the to his Throne of Grace,
To spread thy Sorrows there.