ISUN KAN WA

William Cowper, 1731-1800

Isun kan wa to kun feje, O yo niha Jesu. Elese mokun ninu re, O bo ninu ebi. Gba mo figbagbo risun naa, Ti n san fun ogbe Re, Irapada dorin fun mi Ti n o ma ko titi. Ninu orin to dun ju lo, Lemi o korin Re: 'Gba t'akololo ahon yii Ba dake niboji. Mo gbagbo p'O pese fun mi (Bi mo tile saiye) Ebun ofe ta feje ra, Ati duru wura. Duru ta towo'Olorun se, Ti ko ni baje lai: T'a o ma fi yin Baba wa, Oruko Re nikan. Source: YB Hymnal #232

There is a fountain filled with blood, Drawn from Immanuel’s veins, And sinners plunged beneath that flood Lose all their guilty stains: The dying thief rejoiced to see That fountain in His day; And there may I, though vile as he, Washed all my sins away: Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood Shall never lose its pow’r, Till all the ransomed church of God Are safe, to sin no more: E’er since by faith I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply, Redeeming love has been my theme, And shall be till I die: When this poor, lisping, stamm’ring tongue Lies silent in the grave, Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save:

THE STORY

“I find this account rather profound. It encourages us to know that our challenges are not unique to us, even old and contemporary heroes of faith go through the same (I Peter 5:9). Be emboldened to plunge into that ceaseless Flow all over again.”—Ayobami Temitope Kehinde

This is one of the first hymns Cow­per wrote af­ter his first at­tack of tem­po­ra­ry mad­ness. Cow­per had been prom­ised a post as Clerk of the Jour­nal to the House of Lords, but was dis­mayed up­on learn­ing he would have to un­der­go a pub­lic ex­am­in­a­tion in the House be­fore be­gin­ning his du­ties. The fol­low­ing ar­ti­cle from the North Amer­i­can Re­view, Jan­u­a­ry, 1834, de­scribes his di­lem­ma, and how God pre­vent­ed him from de­stroy­ing him­self:

As the time drew nigh, his agony became more and more in­tense; he hoped and be­lieved that mad­ness would come to relieve him; he attempted also to make up his mind to commit su­i­cide, though his conscience bore stern testimony against it; he could not by any argument per­suade himself that it was right, but this des­per­a­tion pre­vailed, and he pro­cured from an apothecary the means of self-destruction. On the day before his public appearance was to be made, he happened to notice a letter in the newspaper, which to his dis­or­dered mind seemed like a ma­lig­nant li­bel on himself. He im­med­i­ate­ly threw down the pa­per and rushed into the fields, de­ter­mined to die in a ditch, but the thought struck him that he might es­cape from the count­ry. With the same vi­o­lence he pro­ceed­ed to make hasty prep­ar­a­tions for his flight; but while he was en­gaged in pack­ing his port­man­teau his mind changed, and he threw him­self into a coach, or­der­ing the man to drive to the Tower wharf, in­tend­ing to throw him­self in­to the ri­ver, and not re­flect­ing that it would be im­poss­i­ble to ac­comp­lish his pur­pose in that pub­lic spot. On ap­proach­ing the wa­ter, he found a por­ter seated upon some goods: he then re­turned to the coach and was con­veyed to his lodg­ings at the Temple. On the way he at­tempt­ed to drink the laud­a­num, but as oft­en as he raised it, a con­vuls­ive agi­ta­tion of his frame pre­vent­ed it from reach­ing his lips; and thus, re­gret­ting the loss of the op­por­tun­i­ty, but un­a­ble to avail him­self of it, he ar­rived, half dead with an­guish, at his apart­ment. He then shut the doors and threw him­self upon the bed with the laud­a­num near him, try­ing to lash himself up to the deed; but a voice within seemed con­stant­ly to for­bid it, and as of­ten as he ex­tend­ed his hand to the poi­son, his fing­ers were con­tract­ed and held back by spasms.

At this time one of the in­mates of the place came in, but he con­cealed his ag­i­ta­tion, and as soon as he was left alone, a change came over him, and so de­test­a­ble did the deed ap­pear, that he threw away the laud­a­num and dashed the vial to pieces. The rest of the day was spent in heavy insensibility, and at night he slept as usual; but on waking at three in the morning, he took his penknife and lay with his weight upon it, the point toward his heart. It was brok­en and would not pen­e­trate. At day break he arose, and pas­sing a strong gar­ter around his neck, fast­ened it to the frame of his bed: this gave way with his weight, but on securing it to the door, he was more successful, and remained suspended till he had lost all consciousness of existence. After a time the garter broke and he fell to the floor, so that his life was saved.; but the conflict had been greater than his reason could endure. He felt for himself a contempt not to be expressed or imagined; whenever he went into the street, it seemed as if every eye flashed upon him with indignation and scorn; he felt as if he had offended God so deep­ly that his guilt could ne­ver be for­giv­en, and his whole heart was filled with tu­mult­u­ous pangs of despair. Mad­ness was not far off, or rather mad­ness was al­ready come.

Af­ter re­cov­er­ing, Cow­per came to real­ize how God can erase the stain of any sin. (Source)