O thou, whose tender mercy hears

Contrition’s humble sigh;

Whose hand indulgent wipes the tears

From sorrow’s weeping eye;

2 See Lord, before thy throne of grace,

A wretched wanderer mourn:

Hast thou not bid me seek thy face?

Hast thou not said—“Return?”

3 And shall my guilty fears prevail

To drive me from thy feet?

O, let not this dear refuge fail,

This only safe retreat!

4 Absent from thee, my Guide! my Light!

Without one cheering ray,

Through dangers, fears, and gloomy night,

How desolate my way.

5 O, shine on this benighted heart,

With beams of mercy shine!

And let thy healing voice impart

A taste of joy divine.