1 Lord, I would spread my sore distress And guilt before thine eyes; Against thy laws, against thy grace, How high my crimes arise.
2 Shouldst thou condemn my soul to hell, And crush my flesh to dust, Heaven would approve thy vengeance well, And earth must own it just.
3 I from the stock of Adam came, Unholy and unclean; All my original is shame, And all my nature sin.
4 Born in a world of guilt, I drew Contagion with my breath; And, as my days advanc'd, I grew A juster prey for death.
5 Cleanse me, O Lord, and cheer my soul With thy forgiving love; O, make my broken spirit whole, And bid my pains remove.
6 Let not thy Spirit quite depart, Nor drive me from thy face; Create anew my vicious heart, And fill it with thy grace.
7 Then will I make thy mercy known Before the sons of men; Backsliders shall address thy throne, And turn to God again.