LORD, I am vile, conceived in sin, And born unholy and unclean; One of the race whose guilty fall Rendered it base; corrupting all.
Soon as we draw our infant breath, The seeds of sin grow up for death; Thy law demands a perfect heart, But we’re defiled in every part.
So, now I fall before Thy face, My only refuge is Thy grace; No outward forms can make me clean; The force of sin lies deep within.
No sacrifice of bird or beast; No ritual known, nor earthly priest; No works of mine can serve to pay, Or wash this guilty stain away.
Jesus, my Lord, Thy blood alone Has power sufficient to atone; Thy Cross secures my pardon free, Ransoms, and draws me close to Thee.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748‡