Hymn CLXXIV. Short Metre. Confession and Pardon

My sorrows like a flood, Impatient of restraint, Into thy bosom, O my God, Pour out a long complaint.

How often have I stood, A rebel to the skies! Yet, O the patience of my God, Thy thunder silent lies.

Now by a powerful glance, My Saviour, from thy face, This rebel heart no more withstands But yields to sovereign grace.

I see the prince of life Display his wounded veins; I see the fountain opened wide, To wash away my stains.

My God is reconcil'd, My tears his pity move; He calls me his adopted child, The object of his love.

Now let me not receive In vain this heavenly grace; But let it be a fruitful seed Producing holiness.