The Relapse
My
God,
how
gracious
art
thou!
I
had
slipt
Almost
to
hell,
And
on
the
verge
of
that
dark,
dreadful
pit
Did
hear
them
yell,
But
O
thy
love!
thy
rich,
almighty
love
That
sav'd
my
soul,
And
checkt
their
fury,
when
I
saw
them
move,
And
heard
them
howl;
O
my
sole
comfort,
take
no
more
these
ways,
This
hideous
path,
And
I
will
mend
my
own
without
delays,
Cease
thou
thy
wrath!
I
have
deserv'd
a
thick,
Egyptian
damp,
Dark
as
my
deeds,
Should
mist
within
me,
and
put
out
that
lamp
Thy
spirit
feeds;
A
darting
conscience
full
of
stabs
and
fears;
No
shade
but
Yew,
Sullen,
and
sad
eclipses,
cloudy
spheres,
These
are
my
due.
But
he
that
with
his
blood,
(a
price
too
dear,)
My
scores
did
pay,
Bid
me,
by
virtue
from
him,
challenge
here
The
brightest
day;
Sweet,
downy
thoughts;
soft
lily-shades;
calm
streams;
Joys
full
and
true;
Fresh,
spicy
mornings;
and
eternal
beams
These
are
his
due.
