My sins are like an arrow-flight That hurtles o'er the field, -- Like arrows from an ambuscade; But God is like a shield. My sins are like a wintry frost, And slowly, one by one, My joys and powers they seal in death; But God is like a sun. My sins are like a malady Increasing through the years; But like a good physician, He, The healing God, appears. My sins are like the ocean waves That surge with angry shock, -- The treacherous, inconstant waves; But God is like a rock. My sins are like a parched land With thirst and hunger dead; But like the living waters, God, And like the living bread. My sins are like a wandering In deserts drear and cold; But God is like a shepherd kind, And God is like a fold. Like all things hurtful, harsh, and foul, Are these my ravening sins; But God is like all graciousness That helps and heals and wins. And yet without the loving Christ And His compelling rod, My heart would leap to follow sin And disavow my God. |