O Lord, how vile am I,
Unholy, and un­clean!
How can I dare to ven­ture nigh
With such a load of sin?

Is this pol­lut­ed heart
A dwell­ing fit for Thee?
Swarming, alas! in ev­ery part
What ev­ils do I see!

If I at­tempt to pray,
And lisp Thy ho­ly name,
My thoughts are hur­ried soon away;
I know not where I am.

If in Thy word I look,
Such dark­ness fills my mind,
I on­ly read a seal­èd book,
But no re­lief can find.

Thy Gos­pel oft I hear,
But hear it still in vain;
Without de­sire, or love, or fear,
I like a stone re­main.

Myself can hard­ly bear
This wretch­ed heart of mine;
How hate­ful then must it ap­pear
To those pure eyes of Thine?

And must I then in­deed
Sink in des­pair and die?
Fain would I hope that Thou didst bleed
For such a wretch as I.

That blood which Thou hast spilt,
That grace which is Thine own;
Can cleanse the vil­est sin­ner’s guilt,
And soft­en hearts of stone.

Low at Thy feet I bow,
Oh pity and for­give;
Here will I lie and wait, till Thou
Shalt bid me rise and live.