95

L.M.

1
If Thou, O Lord, should’st be severe,
Where would the race of man appear,
Who could Thy piercing sight abide,
Or who, with Thee, be justified?

2
My thoughts were evil from my birth,
My passions wild and vile as earth;
Impurity still reigns within,
And my best deeds partake of sin.

3
I have no worth nor works to boast;
If Thou art strict, my soul is lost;
The righteousness of faith I need,
And mercy! mercy! Lord, I plead.

4
For the dear sake of Christ alone,
My soul at last accept and own;
And let me in Thy presence shine,
A trophy of Thy grace divine.