Alas! my God! my sins are great,
My conscience doth upbraid me;
And now I find that at my strait
No man hath pow'r to aid me.

And fled I hence, In my despair,
In some lone spot to hide me,
My griefs would still be with me there,
Thy hand still hold and guide me.

Nay, Thee I seek;--I merit nought,
Yet pity and restore me;
Be not Thy wrath, just God, my lot,
Thy Son hath suffer'd for me.

If pain and woe must follow sin,
Then be my path still rougher,
Here spare me not; if heaven I win,
On earth I gladly suffer.

But curb my heart, forgive my guilt,
Make Thou my patience firmer,
For they must miss the good Thou wilt,
Who at Thy teachings murmur.

Then deal with me as seems Thee hest,
Thy grace will help me bear it,
If but at last I see Thy rest,
And with my Saviour share it.

The Chorale Book for England, 1863