O Thou that hear’st when sin­ners cry,
Though all my crimes be­fore Thee lie,
Behold them not with an­gry look,
But blot their me­mo­ry from Thy book.

Create my na­ture pure with­in,
And form my soul averse to sin:
Let Thy good Spir­it ne’er de­part,
Nor hide Thy pre­sence from my heart.

I can­not live with­out Thy light
Cast out and ban­ished from Thy sight:
Thine ho­ly joys, my God, re­store,
And guard me that I fall no more.

Though I have grieved Thy Spir­it, Lord,
His help and com­fort still af­ford;
And let a wretch come near Thy throne,
To plead the mer­its of Thy Son.

A brok­en heart, my God, my king,
Is all the sac­ri­fice I bring;
The God of grace will ne’er des­pise
A brok­en heart for sac­ri­fice.

My soul lies hum­bled in the dust,
And owns Thy dread­ful sen­tence just:
Look down, O Lord, with pi­ty­ing eye,
And save the soul con­demned to die.

Then will I teach the world Thy ways;
Sinners shall learn Thy so­ver­eign grace;
I’ll lead them to my Sav­ior’s blood,
And they shall praise a par­don­ing God.

O may Thy love in­spire my tongue!
Salvation shall be all my song;
And all my pow­ers shall join to bless
The Lord, my strength and right­eous­ness.