What good re­mains in me?
An im­po­tent de­sire,
A spark of faint sin­ce­ri­ty,
But rea­dy to ex­pire:
Father, Thy Spir’t be­stow,
I ask in Je­su’s name;
And thus I strength­en it, and blow
The spark in­to a flame.

Lord, to Thy cross I flee
In my ex­treme dis­tress,
And take the strength laid up on Thee
To help my fee­ble­ness:
Grace un­to them that faint
Thou pro­mis­est to give,
And sure as grace sup­plies my want,
My dy­ing soul shall live.