1 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.

2 I'd tell him how my Sins arise,
What Sorrows I sustain,
How Grace decays, and Comfort dies,
And leaves my Heart in Pain:

3 I'd say how Flesh and Sense rebel,
What inward Foes combine,
With this vain World and Pow'rs of Hell,
To vex this Heart of mine.

4 He knows what Arguments I'd take
To wrestle with my God:
I'd plead for his won Mercy's sake,
And for my Saviour's Blood.

5 My God will pity my Complaints,
And heal my broken Bones;
He takes the Meaning of his Saints,
The Language of their Groans.

6 Arise my Soul from deep Distress,
And banish ev'ry Fear;
He calls thee to his Throne of Grace,
To spread thy Sorrows there.