Prostrate, dear Je­sus, at Thy feet,
A guil­ty re­bel lies;
And up­wards to Thy mer­cy seat,
Presumes to lift his eyes.

If tears of sor­row would suf­fice
To pay the debt I owe,
Tears should from both my weep­ing eyes
In cease­less tor­rents flow.

But no such sac­ri­fice I plead
To ex­pi­ate my guilt;
No tears but those which Thou hast shed
No blood, but Thou hast spilt.

Think of Thy sor­rows, dear­est Lord,
And all my sins for­give:
Justice will well ap­prove the word
That bids the sin­ner live.