When first to make my heart his own, <br />The Lord revealed his mighty grace; <br />Self reigned, like Dagon, on the throne, <br />But could not long maintain its place. <br /> <br />It fell, and owned the pow'r divine, <br />(Grace can with ease the vict'ry gain) <br />But soon this wretched heart of mine, <br />Contrived to set it up again. <br /> <br />Again the Lord his name proclaimed, <br />And brought the hateful idol low; <br />Then self, like Dagon, broken, maimed, <br />Seemed to receive a mortal blow. <br /> <br />Yet self is not of life bereft, <br />Nor ceases to oppose his will; <br />Though but a maimed stump be left, <br />'Tis Dagon, 'tis an idol still. <br /> <br />Lord! must I always guilty prove, <br />And idols in my heart have room? <br />Oh! let the, fire of heavenly love, <br />The very slump of self consume.<br /><br />John Newton<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dagon-before-the-ark/
