Behold, I Am Vile

O Lord, how vile am I, Unholy and unclean! How can I dare to venture nigh With such a load of sin?

Is this polluted heart A dwelling fit for thee; Swarming, alas! in every part, What evils do I see!

If I attempt to pray, And lisp thy holy name, My thoughts are hurried soon away, I know not where I am.

If in thy word I look, Such darkness fills my mind, I only read a sealed book, But no relief can find.

Thy gospel oft I hear, But hear it still in vain: Without desire or love or fear, I like a stone remain.

Myself can hardly bear This wretched heart of mine; How hateful then must it appear To those pure eyes of thine!

And must I then indeed Sink in despair and die? Fain would I hope that thou didst bleed For such a wretch as I.

That blood which thou hast spilt, That grace which is thine own, Can cleanse the vilest sinner’s guilt, And soften hearts of stone.

Low at thy feet I bow, Oh pity and forgive; Here will I lie, and wait till thou Shalt bid me raise and live.