1 Approach, my soul, the mercy seat,
where Jesus answers pray'r;
there humbly fall before His feet,
for none can perish there.

2 Thy promise is my only plea,
with this I venture nigh;
Thou callest burdened souls to Thee,
and such, O Lord, am I.

3 Bowed down beneath a load of sin,
by Satan sorely pressed,
by wars without, and fears within,
I come to Thee for rest.

4 Be Thou my shield and hiding place,
that, sheltered near Thy side,
I may my fierce accuser face,
and tell him, "Thou hast died."

5 O wondrous love, to bleed and die,
to bear the cross and shame,
that guilty sinners such as I,
might plead Thy gracious name.

6 "Poor tempest-tossèd soul, be still,
my promised grace receive";
'tis Jesus speaks; I must, I will,
I can, I do believe.