Confession

Jesus, I apply to thee:
Dire the plague that ails my soul,
Other succor do not see,
None but thou canst make me whole.
And thou know’st I’ve tried my best
Other remedy to find,
Yet in none save thee is rest.

Mercy on a sinner take;
Hear, O Lord, my feeble prayer.
Do not me to hell forsake,
Though a seat I’ve earned in there.
Naught in me can claim thy grace,
Yet I sorely pardon crave;
Leave me not to my disgrace.

Inward, what I quail to find
Is the old man thou hast slain,
Dark of heart, of futile mind—
‘Cept if thou restore again.
Faithful Jesus, cling to me;
Spirit right within renew;
Let the new creation be.

See the penitent: he stands
Ere the mercy-seat above.
Let the blood from Jesus’ hands
Sprinkle in atoning love
Over every wicked thing
That I’ve ever entertained.
If thou cleanse me, I am clean.

Clothe me, Lord, in righteous white;
Fire in thy refining grace;
Fit for beatific sight
Of thy blazing, holy face.
Then at last my heart can raise,
Free, amazed, and full of love,
Perfect, pure, eternal praise.

—8/9/24 (probably based on Psalm 51)