How shall we climb the hill of God,
And stand before His face--
We, who in heedless ways have trod,
And scorned the thought of grace?
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Our hands with guilty deeds are stained,
All that we touch is vile;
The things we sought for, and have gained,
With filthiness defile.
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And in our hearts, the home of love,
No love of God resides;
No thought that wings its flight above,
Where purity abides.
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But Thou wilt cleanse our filthiness,
And with Thy Spirit's fire
Consume the hateful sordidness,
That taints our souls' desire.
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Then shall we climb the holy hill
With those whose hands are clean;
Such visions bright our minds shall fill
As by the pure are seen.
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O God, our God, we worship low,
For Thou hast brought us nigh;
Grant us in holiness to grow,
Till we abide on high.
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