Page:Olney Hymns - 1840.djvu/314

310 1 WHEN the poor pris ner, through a grate, Sees others walk at large, How does he mourn his lonely state, And long for a discharge !

2 Thus I, confined in unbelief, My loss of freedom mourn ; And spend my hours in fruitless grief Untill my Lord return.

3 The beam of day, which pierces through The gloom in which I dwell, Only discloses to my view The horrors of my cell.

4 Ah ! how my pensive spirit faints To think of former days ! When I could triumph with the saints, And join their songs of praise!

5 But now my joys are all cut off, In prison 1 am cast; And Satan, with a cruel scoff, Says, &quot;Where s your God at last?&quot;

6 Dear Saviour, for thy mercy s sake, My strong, my only plea, These gates and bars in pieces break, And set the pris ner free! ,

7 Surely my soul shall sing to thee, For liberty restored; And all thy saints admire to see The mercies of the Lord.

1 UNCERTAIN how the way to find Which to salvation led, I listen d long, with anxious mind, To hear what others said.