The Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart, or no?
I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;
If ought is felt, ’tis only pain,
To find I cannot feel.
I sometimes think myself inclined
To love Thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that’s good.
Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love Thy house of prayer;
I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.
Oh, make this heart rejoice or ache,
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken, break—
And heal it, if it be!