Weary of struggling with my pain,

Hopeless to burst my nature’s chain,

Hardly I give the contest o’er,

I seek to free myself no more.

From my own works at last I cease,

God that creates must seal my peace;

Fruitless my toil and vain my care,

And all my fitness is despair.

Lord, I despair myself to heal:

I see my sin, but cannot feel;

I cannot, till Thy Spirit blow,

And bid the obedient waters flow.

’Tis Thine a heart of flesh to give;

Thy gifts I only can receive:

Here then to Thee I all resign;

To draw, redeem, and seal is Thine.

With simple faith, to Thee I call,

My Light, my Life, my Lord, my All:

I wait the moving of the pool;

I wait the word that speaks me whole.

Speak, gracious Lord, my sickness cure,

Make my infected nature pure;

Peace, righteousness, and joy impart,

And pour Thyself into my heart.