O Thou that hearest when sinners cry,

Though all my sins before thee lie,

Behold me not with angry look,

But blot their memory from thy book.

2 Create my nature pure within,

And form my soul averse to sin;

Let thy good Spirit ne’er depart,

Nor hide thy presence from my heart.

3 I can not live without thy light,

Cast out and banished from thy sight;

Thy holy joys, my God, restore,

And guard me that I fall no more.

4 Though I have grieved thy Spirit, Lord,

His help and comfort still afford;

And let a sinner seek thy throne,

To plead the merits of the Son.

Weary of wandering from my God,

And now made willing to return,

I hear, and bow beneath the rod;

For thee, for thee alone, I mourn:

I have an Advocate above,

A Friend before the throne of love.

2 O Jesus, full of truth and grace!

More full of grace than I of sin;

Yet once again I seek thy face,

Open thine arms and take me in;

And freely my backslidings heal,

And love the faithless sinner still.

Before thy throne with tearful eyes,

My gracious Lord, I humbly fall;

To thee my weary spirit flies,

For thy forgiving love I call.

2 How free thy mercy overflows,

When sinners on thy grace rely!

Thy tender love no limit knows;

O, save me—justly doomed to die!

3 Yes! thou wilt save; my soul is free!

The gloom of sin is fled away;

My tongue breaks forth in praise to thee,

And all my powers thy word obey.

4 Hence while I wrestle with my foes—

The world, the flesh, the hosts of hell—

Sustain thou me till conflicts close,

Then endless songs my thanks shall tell.

O thou, whose tender mercy hears

Contrition’s humble sigh;

Whose hand indulgent wipes the tears

From sorrow’s weeping eye;

2 See Lord, before thy throne of grace,

A wretched wanderer mourn:

Hast thou not bid me seek thy face?

Hast thou not said—“Return?”

O for a closer walk with God!

A calm and heavenly frame!

A light to shine upon the road

That leads me to the Lamb!

2 Where is the blessedness I knew

When first I saw the Lord?

Where is the soul-refreshing view

Of Jesus and his word?

3 What peaceful hours I once enjoyed!

How sweet their memory still!

But they have left an aching void

The world can never fill.

4 Return, O holy Dove, return,

Sweet messenger of rest;

I hate the sins that made thee mourn,

And drove thee from my breast.

5 The dearest idol I have known,

Whate’er that idol be,

Help me to tear it from thy throne,

And worship only thee.

Sweet was the time when first I felt

The Saviour’s pardoning blood

Applied to cleanse my soul from guilt,

And bring me home to God.

2 Soon as the morn the light revealed,

His praises tuned my tongue;

And, when the evening shade prevailed,

His love was all my song.

3 In prayer, my soul drew near the Lord,

And saw his glory shine;

And when I read his holy word,

I called each promise mine.

4 But now, when evening shade prevails,

My soul in darkness mourns;

And when the morn the light reveals,

No light to me returns.

5 Rise, Saviour! help me to prevail,

And make my soul thy care;

I know thy mercy can not fail;

Let me that mercy share.

O Saviour, lend a listening ear,

And answer my request!

Forgive, and wipe the falling tear,

Now with thy love my spirit cheer,

And set my heart at rest.

Weeping soul, no longer mourn,

Jesus all thy griefs hath borne;

View him bleeding on the tree,

Pouring out his life for thee;

There thy every sin he bore:

Weeping soul, lament no more.

2 Cast thy guilty soul on him,

Find him mighty to redeem;

At his feet thy burden lay,

Look thy doubts and fears away;

Now by faith the Son embrace,

Plead his promise, trust his grace.

Pity, Lord! this child of clay,

Who can only weep and pray—

Only on thy love depend:

Thou who art the sinner’s Friend;

Thou the sinner’s only plea—

Jesus, Saviour, pity me!

Brother, hast thou wandered far

From the Father’s happy home,

With thyself and God at war?

Turn thee, brother—homeward come.

2 Hast thou wasted all the powers

God for noble uses gave?

Squandered life’s most golden hours?

Turn thee, brother—God can save.

3 He can heal thy bitterest wound,

He thy gentlest prayer can hear;

Seek him, for he may be found;

Call upon him—he is near.

Take me, O my Father! take me—

Take me, save me, through thy Son;

That which thou wouldst have me, make me;

Let thy will in me be done.

2 Long from thee my footsteps straying,

Thorny proved the way I trod;

Weary come I now, and praying—

Take me to thy love my God!

A weak and weary dove, with drooping wing,

And tired of wandering o’er this watery waste,

Jesus, my ark! once more a worthless thing,

To thee I fly, thy pardoning love to taste.

2 For since I left thy sweet, secure retreat,

In search of pleasures fair, though false and vain,

My peace—my joy have flown; no rest my feet

Have found; and now I turn to thee again!

3 I’ve sought for rest in friendship’s hallowed shrine,

But loved ones change, and earth’s endearments end;

No love is true and lasting, Lord, but thine;

Henceforth, Incarnate Love, be thou my friend.

4 I’ve sought to find a place to rest my feet

In fame’s alluring temple, bright and gay;

In health, and competence, and pleasures sweet,

But short and transient as the passing day.

5 Yet all in vain: o’er all this dreary waste

Of sin and sorrow, toil and care, and pain,

No spot I’ve found, my weary feet to rest;

And now, sweet ark, I fly to thee again.