1 All you that love the Lord draw near,
To my complaint pray lend as Ear,
And help me to condole my Grief,
For I'm distresed by unbelief.
2 Sometimes I'm such a stupid clod
I doubt the existence of a God;
But still his terrors work my grief,
While hope is drowned in unbelief.
3 When thus I'm sore distressed all day,
When evening comes I fain would pray,
And beg for pardon, and relief;
"But there's no God:" says Unbelief.
4 But who did all things first create?
Was it not God, the wise and great?
While thus I would assuage my grief,
"You have no soul:" says Unbelief.
5 But then I make this quick reply,
What makes me then afraid to die,
And after death to dread the frief
Which I must have for unbelief?
6 Besides the Savior came to die,
The souls of men to purify;
Which clearly proves for our relief,
That men have souls, O Unbelief!
7 Blest be my God, that now I see
That Jesus gave himself for me;
I'll praise his name, who bore my grief,
And saves my soul from unbelief.
The Christian's duty, exhibited in a series of hymns, 1791
