The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked.
THE ocean wave at morn is calm,
Above it glows the quiet sky,
And gentle winds, like living balm,
Upon its surface sigh;
And lo! the ship, in power and pride,
Doth o'er the circling waters slowly ride.

But shall no tempest ever come?
Shall it seem always calm as now?
Alas! full many a cloud of gloom
Must shadow heaven's bright brow;
And waves and foam shall rudely chafe
Around yon barque, that seems to sail so safe.

Deceitful calm! deceitful sea!
Oh! in all nature's varied range,
Is there a thing so false as thee?
So full of fickle change?
Oh very false thy waters are,—
One thing on earth is more deceitful far;

For should we not believe the word
Our God hath said—the sadly true!
Have not our own wild passions stirred
Its wayward mazes through?
Who hath not interest and part
In that strange, restless thing, the human heart?

Oh! most deceitful — full of sin!
Calm, calm thy fiery throb and thrill;
Curb the strong torrents loosed within:
Oh! human heart, be still!
Alas! thou'rt like the roving wind,
That mortal power hath found no spell to bind.

Pray for the shower of heavenly dew,
To cool thy desert parched domain;
Pray that God's Spirit will renew
That holy gift again;
That there His words, fast taking root,
May bring forth plenteously celestial fruit.

Oh Saviour! though thy quiet breast
From human failings was apart,
Borest Thou not there, although at rest,
The burden of a heart?
Though pure and holy, day by day
Didst thou not feel the weight of human clay?

Our's, stained with grief, and fear, and crime,
Help us in mercy still to bear;
And in thine own most blessed time,
Relieve us of our care:
Teach the poor heart to sin no more,
E'en ere the 'burden of the flesh' is o'er.