Alas! my God! my sins are great,
My con­sci­ence doth up­braid me;
And now I find that at my strait
No man hath pow­er to aid me.

And fled I hence, in my des­pair,
In some lone spot to hide me,
My griefs would still be with me there,
Thy hand still hold and guide me.

Nay, Thee I seek—I mer­it naught,
Yet pi­ty and re­store me;
Be not Thy wrath, just God, my lot,
Thy Son hath suf­fered for me.

If pain and woe must fol­low sin,
Then be my path still rough­er,
Here spare me not; if Hea­ven I win,
On earth I glad­ly suf­fer.

But curb my heart, for­give my guilt,
Make Thou my pa­tience firm­er,
For they must miss the good Thou wilt,
Who at Thy teach­ings mur­mur.

Then deal with me as seems Thee best,
Thy grace will help me bear it,
If but at last I see Thy rest,
And with my Sav­ior share it.