1 Alas, my God! my sins are great,
My conscience doth upbraid me;
And now I find that at my strait
No man hath power to aid me.

2 And fled I hence, in my despair,
In some lone spot to hide me,
My griefs would still be with me there,
And peace still be denied me.

3 Lord, Thee I seek;--I merit naught,
Yet pity and restore me;
Be not Thy wrath, just God, my lot,
Thy Son hath suffered for me.

4 If pain and woe must follow sin,
Then be my path still rougher,
Here spare me not; if heaven I win,
On earth I gladly suffer.

5 But curb my heart, forgive my guilt,
Make Thou my patience firmer,
For they must miss the good Thou wilt
Who at Thy chastenings murmur.

6 Then deal with me as seems Thee best,
Thy grace will help me bear it,
If but at last I see Thy rest,
And with my Savior share it.