Lord, I would spread my sore dis­tress
And guilt be­fore Thine eyes;
Against Thy laws, against Thy grace,
How high my crimes arise!

Shouldst Thou con­demn my soul to hell,
And crush my flesh to dust,
Heav’n would ap­prove Thy ven­geance well,
And earth must own it just.

I from the stock of Ad­am came,
Unholy and un­clean;
All my orig­in­al is shame
And all my na­ture sin.

Born in a world of guilt, I drew
Contagion with my breath;
And as my days ad­vanced, I grew
A just­er prey for death.

Cleanse me, O Lord, and cheer my soul
With Thy for­giv­ing love;
And make my brok­en spir­it whole,
And bid my pains re­move.

Let not Thy spir­it quite de­part,
Nor drive me from Thy face;
Create anew my vi­cious heart
And fill it with Thy grace.

Then I will make Thy mer­cy known
Before the sons of men;
Backsliders shall ad­dress Thy throne,
And turn to God again.