Dialogue between a Believer and His Soul

“A Dialogue between a Believer and His Soul” by Joseph Hart appears below. It was first published in Hart’s Hymns, Composed on Various Subjects in 1759. Hart was the author of many unique and worthy hymns, including “The Stony Heart.” In The Sacred Harp, we sing two stanzas of Hart’s longer “Dialogue” hymn under the title The Grieved Soul.

The structure of the poem is intriguing, truly a dialogue or discussion between a man and his own soul. The internal conflict can be seen and felt as the soul’s doubts fight to be heard. The believer reasons from the Saviour and Scripture. It begins with both the believer and the soul alternating their speaking in 8-line stanzas. The discussion is sophisticated in the beginning. In stanza eight this gives way to 4 lines for each, then 2 lines alternating back and forth in the ninth stanza. It ends with a staccato flourish, the soul and the believer each quickly alternating lines as the soul seems to exhaust its questions in a gasp, giving way to the biblical answers of the believer. We might easily relate Hart’s struggle to our own within ourselves.

In the presentation below “B” stands for the dialogue of the “Believer” and “S” stands for the dialogue of the “Soul”. It appears as in A Sheaf of Psalms, Hymns and Spiritual Songs.

246    A Dialogue between a Believer and his Soul    7s. 6s. (8 lines)

1.            B:            Come, my soul, and let us try,

                              For a little season,

                              Every burden to lay by;

                              Come, and let us reason.

                              What is this that casts thee down?

                              Who are those that grieve thee?

                              Speak, and let the worst be known;

                              Speaking may relieve thee.

2.            S:            O I sink beneath the load

                              Of my nature’s evil!

                              Full of enmity to God;

                              Captived by the devil;

                              Restless as the troubled sea,

                              Feeble, faint, and fearful;

                              Plagued by every sore disease;

                              How can I be cheerful?

3.            B:            Think on what my Saviour bore

                              In the gloomy garden;

                              Sweating blood at every pore,

                              To procure thy pardon!

                              See Him stretched upon the wood,

                              Bleeding, grieving, crying,

                              Suffering all the wrath of God,

                              Groaning, gasping, dying!

4.            S:            This by faith I sometimes view,

                              And those views relieve me;

                              But my sins return anew;

                              These are they that grieve me.

                              Oh! I’m leprous, stinking, foul,

                              Quite throughout infected;

                              Have I not if any soul,

                              Cause to be dejected?

5.            B:            Think how loud thy dying Lord

                              Cried out, “It is finished!”

                              Treasure up that sacred word,

                              Whole and undiminished;

                              Doubt not He will carry on,

                              To its full perfection,

                              That good work He has begun;

                              Why, then, this dejection?

6.            S:            Faith when void of works is dead:

                              This the Scriptures witness;

                              And what works have I to plead,

                              Who am all unfitness?

                              All my powers are depraved,

                              Blind, perverse, and filthy;

                              If from death I’m fully saved,

                              Why am I not healthy?

7.            B:            Pore not on thyself too long,

                              Lest it sink thee lower;

                              Look to Jesus, kind as strong -

                              Mercy joined with power;

                              Every work that thou must do,

                              Will the gracious Saviour

                              For thee work, and in thee too,

                              Of His special favour.

8.            S:            Jesus’ precious blood, once spilt,

                              I depend on solely,

                              To release and clear my guilt;

                              But I would be holy.

               B:            He that bought thee on the cross

                              Can control thy nature;

                              Fully purge away thy dross;

                              Make thee a new creature.

9.            S:            That He can, I nothing doubt,

                              Be it but His pleasure;

               B:            Though it be not done throughout,

                              May it not in measure?

               S:            When that measure, far from great,

                              Still shall seem decreasing?

               B:            Faint not then, but pray and wait,

                              Never, never ceasing.

10.          S:            What when prayer meets no regard?

               B:            Still repeat it often.

               S:            But I feel myself so hard.

               B:            Jesus will thee soften.

               S:            But my enemies make head.

               B:            Let them closer drive thee.

               S:            But I’m cold, I’m dark, I’m dead.

               B :           Jesus will revive thee.

Melancholy Thoughts Suppressed

What follows is a hymn by Thomas Greene, under the heading “Melancholy Thoughts Suppressed.” It is given as it appears in Poems on Various Subjects, Chiefly Sacred. By the late Thomas Greene of Ware, Hertfordshire (London: H. Goldney, 1780, pp. 253-254). Lines in brackets are not in that publication, but often appear in printings of the hymn. According to Josiah Miller, “Mr. Greene was a gentleman of good means, residing at Ware...a member of the Congregational church...” He is also author of “It is the Lord, enthron’d in light, whose claims all all divine...” – found in the same 1780 Poems on Various Subjects.

1. Why should my soul indulge complaints,
Or sit and brood despair? [And yield to dark despair?]
The meanest of my Father’s saints
Are safe beneath his care.

2. Why should I thus desponding bow,
Or why with anguish bleed?
Tho’ darkness veils my passage now,
Yet glory shall succeed.

3. Why should my envious foes prevail
In what they most desire?
My faith, though weak, can never fail,
Nor humble hope expire.
[3. Why should my fears so far prevail,
When they my hopes accost?
My faith, though weak, can never fail,
Nor shall my hopes be lost.]

4. A thousand promises are wrote
In characters of blood,
And those emphatic lines denote
The ever-faithful God.

5. Thro’ these sweet promises I range,
And (blessed be his name !)
Tho’ I, a fickle mortal, change,
His love is still the same.

6. Grace, like a fountain, ever flows,
Fresh succours to renew:
The Lord my wants and weakness knows,
My sins and sorrows too.

7. ’Tis not perpetual sunshine here,
Yet I’m assured of this,
Oceans’s wild tumults shall endear
The port of endless bliss.

8. My God, my everlasting friend,
Directs my doubtful ways;
Will give salvation in the end,
And his shall be the praise.
[8. ’Tis he directs my doubtful way,
When dangers line the road;
Here I my Ebenezer raise,
And trust a gracious God.]

Philpot: Perplexed, but not in despair

"Perplexed, but not in despair." 2 Corinthians 4:8

Oh! what a mercy, amidst every degree of inward or outward perplexity, to be out of the reach of Giant Despair; not to be shut up in the iron cage; not to be abandoned, as Judas or Ahithophel, to utter desperation and suicide, and, after a long life of profession, concerning faith to make awful shipwreck!

Now the child of God, with all his doubts, fears, sinkings, misgivings, and trying perplexities is never really and truly in despair. He may tread so near the borders of that black country that it may almost be debateable land whether he is walking in despair or upon the borders of it; for I believe many children of God have at times come to the solemn conclusion that there is no hope for them, for they cannot see how they can be saved or have their aggravated sins pardoned.

And though this be not black despair, nor such utter, irremediable desperation as seized Saul and Judas, for there still is a "Who can tell?" yet it certainly is walking very near the borders of that dark and terrible land. I cannot tell, nor do I believe any can, how low a child of God may sink, or how long he may continue under the terrors of the Almighty; but we have the warrant of God's word to believe that he is never given up to utter despair, for the Lord holds up his feet from falling into that terrible pit, and being cast into that sea to which there is neither bottom nor shore.

J. C. Philpot (1802-1869)