  (illuminated capital) I dare not raise my guilty eye The gaze of man to meet, A helpless sentenced wretch I lie, Lord Jesus! at Thy feet. Too justly scorned by all beside, I trembling come to Thee; If Thou for chief of sinners died, Is there not hope for me? The dying thief in torments hung While sinners scoffed around; With feeble breath and faltering tongue He mercy sought—and found. There flowed before his eyesight dim The blood which made him free; If Jesus heard and pitied him Is there not hope for me? The weeping prodigal returned His father’s house to seek; His supplication was not spurned— Love still could welcome speak. Like him, in grief and penitence, To mercy’s door I flee, O Father, wilt thou spurn me thence; Is there not hope for me? Yes, there is hope! while He, once crowned With thorns, now pleads in heaven, Rejoices o’er the lost one found, The wanderer forgiven; To those who mourn and turn from sin He offers mercy free; I feel another life begin— There yet is hope for me! |
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