O Thou, the con­trite sin­ner’s friend,
Who lov­ing, lov’st them to the end,
On this alone my hopes de­pend,
That Thou wilt plead for me.

When wea­ry in the Chris­tian race,
Far off ap­pears my rest­ing place,
And, faint­ing, I mis­trust Thy grace,
Then, Sav­ior, plead for me.

When I have erred and gone as­tray,
Afar from Thine and wis­dom’s way,
And see no glim­mer­ing, guid­ing ray,
Still, Sav­ior, plead for me.

When Sa­tan, by my sins made bold,
Strives from Thy cross to loose my hold,
Then with Thy pi­ty­ing arms en­fold,
And plead, O plead for me.

And when my dy­ing hour draws near,
Darkened with ang­uish, guilt, and fear,
Then to my faint­ing sight ap­pear,
Pleading in Heav’n for me.

When the full light of hea­ven­ly day
Reveals my sins in dread ar­ray,
Say Thou hast washed them all away;
O say, Thou plead’st for me!