507    C.M.     D. Herbert
“Turn thou me, and I shall be turned.” Jer. 31. 18

1 How oft I grumble and repine,
  With blessings in my hand;
  There’s nothing here can satisfy,
  Nor gold, nor house, nor land.

2 Sometimes the Lord bestows on me,
  His fretful child, a toy,
  On which I raise my prospects high,
  And look for certain joy.

3 But soon there’s something intervenes;
  I’ve something else in view;
  The former mercy is forgot,
  And I want something new.

4 [Oh! this unstable heart of mine
  Is like the troubled sea;
  The more I have, the more I want;
  When shall I settled be?]

5 I know this wretched world can’t fill
  This anxious soul of mine;
  O could I to my Father’s will
  My soul, my all resign!

6 [Sometimes, alas! I think I can;
  I’ll trust the world no more;
  But when I meet some little cross,
  I’m fretful as before.

7 Why am I captivated thus,
  By such poor trifling toys?
  Alas! how oft this wretched world
  Annoys my better joys!]

8 I want to trust, but cannot trust,
  A God of providence;
  Although he bless from day to day,
  I’m full of diffidence.

9 [When troubles roll in thick and fast,
  Ah! then my faith gives way;
  Sometimes I think I cannot stand,
  No, not another day.]

10 Sometimes, like Ephraim, I rebel,
  I cannot bear the yoke;
  I kick and murmur at the rod,
  And shrink at every stroke;

11 But when my Father smiles again,
  Then what a fool am I!
  ’Tis then, like Ephraim, I repent,
  And smite upon my thigh.

12 Like him I mourn, like him I cry,
  “Lord, hold me with thy hand;
  And draw me by thy special grace;
  Hold up, and I shall stand.”