Lord, having broke thy holy law,
I blush and am ashamed.
My frozen heart begins to thaw,
And I am self-condemned.
But in the volume of thy word
I see some sweet relief:
I would believe thy gospel, Lord,
Help thou my unbelief!
I own I have myself destroyed,
And feel the festering wound;
Yet in that word would I confide,
In thee my help is found.
Poor, blind, and lame, and naked, here
I fall before thy face:
O let my groaning reach thine ear,
And magnify thy grace!
Pity, O Lord, the wretch so poor,
That here before thee lies!
‘Tis Christ alone my wounds can cure,
And heal my maladies.
Then at thy feet, dear Lord, I’ll lie,
Thy kind goodwill to prove;
Resolved that if I here should die,
I will not hence remove.
Author unattributed. Published in The Gospel Magazine, January 1766.