“Looking unto Jesus, the Author and Finisher of our faith.” 1 WEARY of struggling with my pain, Hopeless to burst my nature’s chain, Hardly I give the contest o’er, I seek to free myself no more. 2 From my own works at last I cease, God that creates must seal my peace; Fruitless my toil and vain my care, And all my fitness is despair. 3 Lord, I despair myself to heal: I see my sin, but cannot feel; I cannot, till Thy Spirit blow, And bid the’ obedient waters flow. 4 ’Tis Thine a heart