1 How sad our state by nature is!
Our sin how deep it stains!
And Satan binds our captive minds
Fast in his slavish chains.
2 But there's a voice of sovereign grace
Sounds from the sacred word,
|Ho, ye despairing sinners, come,
|And trust upon the Lord.|
3 My soul obeys th' almighty call,
And runs to this relief,
I would believe thy promise, Lord,
O! help my unbelief.
4 [To the dear fountain of thy blood,
Incarnate God, I fly,
Here let me wash my spotted soul
From crimes of deepest die.
5 Stretch out thine arm victorious King,
My reigning sins subdue,
Drive the old dragon from his seat,
With all his hellish crew.]
6 A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,
On thy kind arms I fall:
Be thou my strength and righteousness,
My Jesus, and my all.