(3 April 1593 – 1 March 1633 / Montgomery, Wales)


THROW away Thy rod,
Throw away Thy wrath;
   O my God,
Take the gentle path!

For my heart's desire
Unto Thine is bent:
   I aspire
To a full consent.

Not a word or look
I affect to own,
   But by book,
And Thy Book alone.

Though I fail, I weep;
Though I halt in pace,
   Yet I creep
To the throne of grace.

Then let wrath remove;
Love will do the deed;
   For with love
Stony hearts will bleed.

Love is swift of foot;
Love 's a man of war,
   And can shoot,
And can hit from far.

Who can 'scape his bow?
That which wrought on Thee,
   Brought Thee low,
Needs must work on me.

Throw away Thy rod;
Though man frailties hath,
   Thou art God:
Throw away Thy wrath!

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Comments (1)

Oh George, Stony Hearts they never bleed, They proceed to bleed others by their ways. When their time arises, they realize. Their sins arrowing them’ to bleed They can no longer find other ways.