1 THE children to the birth are come; But, O! they have not might To burst the barriers of the womb, And struggle into light. 2 My feeble soul gives o’er the strife, Just as it sees the skies; Fails in the very gate of life, Sinks back again, and dies. 3 I saw the port of Jesu’s breast; But, while I enter’d in, A whirlwind swept me from my rest, And plunged me into sin. 4 What shall I do, or whither turn? Despairing of relief, I, only can my ruin mourn With unavailing grief. 5 Ah, woe is