O that I knew the sec­ret place
Where I might find my God!
I’d spread my wants be­fore His face,
And pour my woes abroad.

I’d tell Him how my sins arise;
What sor­rows I sus­tain;
How grace de­cays, and com­fort dies,
And leaves my heart in pain.

He knows what ar­gu­ments I’d take
To wres­tle with my God;
I’d plead for His own mer­cy’s sake
And for my Sav­ior’s blood.

Arise, my soul, from deep dis­tress,
And ban­ish ev­ery fear;
He calls Thee to His throne of grace,
To spread Thy sor­rows there.