My soul is sad and much dismayed; See, Lord, what legions of my foes, With fierce Apollyon at their head, My heav'nly pilgrimage oppose! See, from the over-burning lake How like a smoky cloud they rise! With horrid blasts my soul they shake, With storms of blasphemies and lies. Their fiery arrows reach the mark, My throbbing heart with anguish tear; Each lights upon a kindred spark, And finds abundant fuel there. I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord; O, I would drive it from my breast, With Thy own sharp two-edged sword, Far as the east is from the west! Come then, and chase the cruel host, Heal the deep wounds I have received! Nor let the pow'rs of darkness boast That I am foiled, and Thou art grieved!
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