1 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 sov'reign grace
sounds from the sacred Word,
"Ho, ye despairing sinners, come,
and trust upon the Lord."

2 My soul obeys th'almighty call,
and runs to this relief;
I would believe Thy promise, Lord,
O help my unbelief.
Unto the fountain of Thy blood,
Incarnate God, I fly;
here let me wash my spotted soul,
from Crimes of deepest dye.

3 Stretch out Thine arm, victorious King,
my reigning sins subdue;
and drive the dragon from his seat,
with all his hellish crew.
A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,
on Thy kind arms I fall;
be thou my strength and righteousness,
my Jesus and my all.