The Complaint
What mean impatiepipmenjto call) it pain? That do the! creature’s wrath alone sustain? But, alas! how much greater is my woe, That must God’s sharp displeasure undergo?
If a worm’s fury seemeth hard to bear, Who dare before an angry God appear? I thought my God had blotted out my sin; And it no more remember’d should have been! And wilt thou now call up what’s past and gone? And charge upon me all that I have done? Why then, where is my Saviour? where ’s his blood? Shall not thy promises be all made good? Where are thy tender bowels? where ’s that grace That shew’d me once thy reconciled face? Dost thou repent? or can God changed be? O no! it ’s I that falsely turn’d from thee.
Yet be not angry with me, O my God! If thy child cry, and plead against the rod; Not daring to accuse thy narrow path; But humbly hold to deprecate thy wrath. Is it thy pleasure to behold my grief? When thou canst with a word send full relief? Dost thou delight to see me drench’d in tears, And overwhelm’d with doubts and horrid fears? Wilt thou stand by and see my soul thus sink, j While wasting flesh doth stand at the pit’s brink? Shall grief and sickness leave but skin and bones? And shall I know no breath but sighs and groans? Have I no passions left but griefs and fears? Are groans the only music for thine ears? And have I sense only to feel my woe? And reason only misery to know? And wilt thou suffer sinful unbelief, To banish joy, and keep out all relief? How can that gracious Lord my woe desire? That did so much to save me from the fire?
How can that Saviour be against my good, That died in love, and wash’d me by his blood? Can the same voice now pass so sad a doom, That from my sin so lately call’d me home? Wilt thou now frown me down to fears and death, That lately gav’st me a new life and breath? Or can that hand that snatch’d me from the flame Tear me, and cast me back into the same? Pity, my God, this sinking trembling soul, And let the hand that wounds me, make me whole: Friends would, but cannot; all their help is vain: But thou canst quickly give me joy for pain. What can friends do, but make my grief their own? And will not give me leave to die alone. They can but add their fruitless tears and moans, To join in a sad concert with my groans. Their pity doth but make my wounds more deep While in compassion they stand by and weep: Through me thou woundest them: my pains are
theirs, And every tender friend a portion bears. They can but pray for that which thou must give; They strive in vain if thou wilt not relieve. 0 spare me, Lord! and press me not too low, Lest I should peevish and impatient grow! Lest I should have unworthy thoughts of thee, Forgetting what thy love hath done for me. Lest blind distrust get ground against my faith, And I grow mindless what thy promise saith. Lest griefs consume the soul which thou hast made, And lest thy praises with my comforts fade.
Lest I thine ancient loves no more rehearse, But all my thanks as a mistake reverse. And lest unruly grief should make me break Thy holy laws, and things unseemly speak. And lest the temper should advantage take, The Heav’n-built structure of my hopes to shake. Lest I be drawn with Job to curse the day, In which my soul was married to clay! Lest this rash tongue thy precious love deny, And in distress, should call thee enemy. Break not the heart on which thou wrot’st thy name, Lest those bless ‘d letters perish with the frame. Thy word commands us always to rejoice-Fain I would do it, but thou stopp’st my voice. Can I rejoice, whenas thy angry dart
Is piercing night and day my wounded heart? Can I rejoice and bleed; rejoice and die? Can I rejoice, when thou dost joy deny? Can I mix night and day? or death and life? Or heat and cold? or quietness and strife? Or twist the highest joy with deepest sorrow? Dwelling near Hell to-day, and Heav’n to-morrow? Will joys agree with heavy sighs and groans, And sweetest comforts dwell with broken bones? When I would rise and sing thy love’s renown, Then comes another wave and strikes me down. Brimstone and flames methinks upon me rain, As if I were adjudged to Sodom’s pain. O, my dear God! why dost thou me forsake? And all my bones and heart in pieces shake? I took thee for my onTy life and joy: O do not now this trembling soul destroy!