“Create in me a clean heart.” Ps. 51. 10; Mark 7. 21

J. Hart                                       C.M.

Lord, when thy Spirit descends to show
The badness of our hearts,
Astonished at the amazing view,
The soul with horror starts.

[The dungeon, opening foul as hell,
Its loathsome stench emits;
And, brooding in each secret cell,
Some hideous monster sits.]

[Swarms of ill thoughts their bane diffuse,
Proud, envious, false, unclean;
And every ransacked corner shows
Some unsuspected sin.]

Our staggering faith gives way to doubt;
Our courage yields to fear;
Shocked at the sight, we straight cry out,
“Can ever God dwell here?”

None less than God’s Almighty Son
Can move such loads of sin;
The water from his side must run,
To wash this dungeon clean.

O come, thou much-expected Guest!
Lord Jesus, quickly come!
Enter the chamber of my breast;
Thyself prepare the room.

For shouldst thou stay till thou canst meet
Reception worthy thee,
With sinners thou wouldst never sit –
At least I’m sure with me.

When, when will that blest time arrive,
When thou wilt kindly deign
With me to sit, to lodge, to live;
And never part again?


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