V

Sins grew a heavy load and cold, And pressed me to the dust; “Whither,” I cried, “can this be rolled Ere I behold the Just?”

But now I claim them for my own; Thy face I needs must find; Lo! thus I wrought, yea, I alone, Not weak, beguiled, or blind.

See my full arms, my heaped-up shame, An evil load I bring: Thou, God, art a consuming flame, Accept the hateful thing.

Pronounce the dread condemning word, I stand in blessed fear; Dear is Thy cleansing wrath, O Lord, The fire that burns is dear.