O MY God, how fatally do I experience the truth of this assertion! My heart is indeed deceitful above all things. And how great is my sorrow on the melancholy reflection? Lord, I have by the deceitfulness and wickedness of my own heart, justly forfeited my title to the joys of eternity, incurred thy indignation, and made myself obnoxious to that dreadful sentence, _Depart ye cursed_! And how just is this sentence, after the crimes my deceitful heart has betrayed me into; after the many good resolutions I have broke; after the sins of ingratitude, presumption, and repining, with which I have defiled my soul! How often have I resolved, firmly resolved, to keep a strict watch over my eyes and heart in the house of God; and let no thought have entrance, which could prevent my addressing my Creator with the reverence I ought? But, merciful God! How contrary have I acted to all this! Have not my eyes been amused by vanity, and my heart so distracted by idle and ridiculous ideas, that I have not known the words my lips pronounced? Nay, have not even unclean and blasphemous thoughts attacked me at this sacred time, and, wretch that I am! been indulged, or but coldly rejected? Horrible proof, that my heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked! Lord, I abhor myself, for having thus often, and thus heinously offended thee! I am utterly ashamed and confounded, at my daring, my monstrous impiety! How shall I dare to hope for pardon of a sin so frequently repeated, and with such aggravations? When I consider the greatness of my guilt, my astonished soul is ready to sink in black despair. Blessed God! I sin against the clearest conviction, against the checks of my conscience, and the kind admonitions of thy holy Spirit; and, strange perverseness! against all the hopes I have of happiness; sin against that God, whom I love and adore from my soul, and whose favour I would this moment lay down my life to procure. The thoughts of immortality, and the surprising goodness of the Almighty, in the works of creation and redemption, fill my mind with gratitude and wonder; I am lost in admiration, and could dwell for ever on the delightful theme. And yet, inconsistent wretch that I am! I go on to offend this divine author of my being, by my careless, supine, and irreverent addresses; and my wicked and fantastic thoughts. My prayers are turned into sin: and now is it not presumption, the highest presumption, to hope for pardon? Or rather, would it not be a greater sin than I have yet committed, to despair of it? Is not mercy the darling attribute of God? It is; and I embrace and adore that mercy: that mercy which is so freely offered to the worst of sinners: that mercy which is made sure to us by the blood of a crucified Saviour. Oh my only refuge! my dearest hope and everlasting confidence! Teach me words to express the sentiments I have of thee, and the abhorrence I have of my guilt. I detest myself, hate my vile ingratitude, and