Jesu, the Sinner’s Friend, to Thee,

Lost and undone, for aid I flee,

Weary of earth, myself, and sin;

Open Thine arms, and take me in.

Pity and heal my sin-sick soul;

’Tis Thou alone canst make me whole:

Fall’n, till in me Thine image shine,

And cursed I am, till Thou art mine.

Hear, Jesu, hear my helpless cry;

O, save a wretch condemn’d to die!

The sentence in myself I feel,

And all my nature teems with hell.

When shall concupiscence and pride

No more my tortured heart divide!

When shall this agony be o’er,

And the old Adam rage no more!

Awake, the woman’s conquering Seed,

Awake, and bruise the serpent’s head!

Tread down Thy foes, with power control

The beast and devil in my soul.

The mansion for Thyself prepare;

Dispose my heart by entering there!

’Tis this alone can make me clean,

’Tis this alone can cast out sin.

Long have I vainly hoped and strove

To force my hardness into love,

To give Thee all Thy laws require;

And labour’d in the purging fire.

A thousand specious arts essay’d,

Call’d the deep Mystic to my aid:

His boasted skill the brute refined,

But left the subtler fiend behind.

Frail, dark, impure, I still remain,

Nor hope to break my nature’s chain:

The fond self-emptying scheme is past,

And, lo! constrain’d, I yield at last.

At last I own it cannot be

That I should fit myself for Thee:

Here then to Thee I all resign;

Thine is the work, and only Thine.

No more to lift my eyes I dare,

Abandon’d to a just despair;

I have my punishment in view;

I feel a thousand hells my due.

What shall I say Thy grace to move?

Lord, I am sin,—but Thou art Love:

I give up every plea beside,

“Lord, I am damn’d,—but Thou hast died!”

While groaning at Thy feet I fall,

Spurn me away, refuse my call,

If love permit, contract Thy brow,

And, if Thou canst, destroy me now!