1 How sad our state by nature is,
our sin how deep it stains;
and Satan binds our captivbe minds
fast in his slavish chains.
But there's a voice of sovereign grace
sounds from the sacred Word,
"O, ye depairing sinners, come,
and trust upon the Lord."
2 My soul obeys the almighty call,
and runs to this relief;
I would believe Thy promise, Lord,
O help my unbelief.
Unto the fountain of Thy blood,
Incarnate God, I fly;
Here let me wash my spotted soul,
from crimes of deepest dye.
3 Stretch out Thine arm, victorious King,
my reigning sins subdue;
and drive the dragon from his seat,
with all his hellish crew.
A guilty, weak, and helpless wretch,
on Thy kind arm I fall;
Be Thou my strength and righteousness,
my Jesus and my all.
