How sad our state by nature is!

Our sin, how deep it stains!

And Satan binds our captive minds

Fast in his slavish chains.

But there's a voice of sovereign grace

Sounds from the sacred word:

"Ho! ye despairing sinners, come,

And trust upon the Lord."

My soul obeys th' almighty call,

And runs to this relief;

I would believe thy promise, Lord;

O help my unbelief!

[To the dear fountain of thy blood,

Incarnate God, I fly;

Here let me wash my spotted soul

From crimes of deepest dye.

Stretch out thine arm, victorious King

My reigning sins subdue;

Drive the old dragon from his seat,

With all his hellish crew.]

A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,

On thy kind arms I fall;

Be thou my strength and righteousness,

My Jesus, and my all.