by John Newton, In mercy, not in wrath, rebuke
“ By day my busy beating head Is filled with anxious fears; By night, upon my restless bed, I weep a flood of tears. Thus I sit desolate and mourn, Mine eyes grow dull with grief; How long, my LORD, ere thou return, And bring my soul relief? O come and show thy pow'r to save, And spare my fainting breath; For who can praise thee in the grave, Or sing thy name in death? Satan, my cruel envious foe, Insults me in my pain ”
