Dear Lord accept a sinful heart,

Which of itself complains

And mourns, with much and frequent smart,

The evil it contains.

There fiery seeds of anger lurk,

Which often hurt my frame;

And wait but for the tempter’s work,

To fan them to a flame.

Legality holds out a bribe

To purchase life from thee;

And discontent would fain prescribe

How thou shalt deal with me.

While unbelief withstands thy grace;

And puts the mercy by;

Presumption, with a brow of brass,

Says, “Give me, or I die.”

How eager are my thoughts to roam

In quest of what they love!

But ah! when duty calls them home,

How heavily they move!

O, cleanse me in a Savior’s blood,

Transform me by thy pow’r,

And make me thy beloved abode,

And let me rove no more.