156    C.M.     J. Hart
The Wish. Gen. 18. 27; Zech. 12. 10; Heb. 2. 9

1 If dust and ashes might presume,
  Great God, to talk to thee;
  If in thy presence can be room
  For crawling worms like me;
  I humbly would my wish present,
  For wishes I have none;
  All my desires are now content
  To be comprised in one.

2 The single boon I would entreat
  Is, to be led by thee
  To gaze upon thy bloody sweat
  In sad Gethsemane.
  To view (as I could bear at least)
  Thy tender, broken heart,
  Like a rich olive, bruised and pressed
  With agonising smart.

3 [To see thee bowed beneath my guilt;
  (Intolerable load!)
  To see thy blood for sinners spilt,
  My groaning, gasping God!
  With sympathising grief to mourn
  The sorrows of thy soul:
  The pangs and tortures by thee borne
  In some degree condole.]

4 There musing on thy mighty love,
  I always would remain;
  Or but to Golgotha remove,
  And thence return again.
  In each dear place the same rich scene
  Should ever be renewed;
  No object else should intervene,
  But all be love and blood.

5 For this one favour oft I’ve sought;
  And if this one be given,
  I seek on earth no happier lot,
  And hope the like in heaven.
  Lord, pardon what I ask amiss,
  For knowledge I have none;
  I do but humbly speak my wish;
  And may thy will be done.