HOW sad our state by nature is! Our sin how deep it stains! And Satan binds our captive minds Fast in his slavish chains.
But there’s a voice of sovereign grace Sounds from the sacred Word, ‘Come, all despairing sinners, come, And trust upon the Lord.’
My soul obeys the almighty call, And runs to this relief; I would believe Thy promise, Lord, O help my unbelief.
To the dear fountain of Thy blood, Incarnate God, I fly; Here let me wash my guilty soul From crimes of deepest dye.
A guilty, weak and helpless worm, On Thy kind arms I fall; Be Thou my strength and righteousness, My Jesus and my All.
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748