Indulgent God! how kind
Are all Thy ways to me,
Whose dark be­night­ed mind
Was en­mi­ty with Thee;
Yet now, sub­dued by so­ver­eign grace,
My spir­it longs for Thy em­brace!

How pre­cious are Thy thoughts,
Which o’er my bo­som roll!
They swell be­yond my faults,
And cap­ti­vate my soul;
How great their sum, how high they rise,
Can ne’er be known be­neath the skies.

Preserved in Je­sus when
My feet made haste to hell;
And there should I have gone,
But Thou dost all things well;
Thy love was great, Thy mer­cy free,
Which from the pit de­li­vered me.

Before Thy hands had made
The sun to rule the day,
Or earth’s foun­da­tion laid,
Or fa­shioned Ad­am’s clay,
What thoughts of peace and mer­cy flowed
In Thy dear bo­som, O my God!

O fa­thom­less abyss,
Where hid­den mys­ter­ies lie;
The ser­aph finds his bliss
Within the same to pry.
Lord, what is man, Thy des­per­ate foe,
That Thou should bless and love him so?

A mo­nu­ment of grace,
A sin­ner saved by blood;
The streams of love I trace
Up to the fount­ain, God;
And in His sac­red bos­om see
Eternal thoughts of love to me.