"Conflict" A poem by Anna Shipton
"Lord! my soul is burdened By a weight of care, And my foot is taken in the fowler's snare; Darkness gathers o'er me, I shall fall or flee: Helper of the helpless, Rise and succor me! Dangers seem to threaten, Tempters' wiles assail; In Thy light I see them, Yet I weakly quail. Strange unholy terrors In my bosom rise; "What distrustful language— Heavy groans and sighs! Thoughts of sin's defilement Born of faithless mood, Hosts of unclean devils, guests of hell's dark brood, Leave me lame and mourning, Blind to seek and trace All the glorious beauty Of Immanuel's face. Look, oh, look upon me! See my wounds! and hear In my soul's veiled chambers, what dishonoring fear! Withered arms for service, And a palsied frame That hath scarce a heart-throb At Thy precious name. Touch me, cleanse me, heal me! Thou didst give me life; Speak the word, and save me From this deadly strife. Thine is full salvation, And the gift is free: Helper of the helpless, Rise ...