1 Why should a pilgrim grope within,
And judge by what he feels?
A loathsome stench of death and sin
No consolation yields.

2 Corruptions, base and foul as hell,
May vex and tease the soul;
But Jesus’ blood its rage can quell,
And make the conscience whole.

3 I have no life, no light, no love,
No truth or righteousness,
That God, my Father, can approve,
Or justice can caress,

4 But what I have in Christ, my Head,
And grace on me bestows;
My life with Christ in God is hid,
And he’ll redress my woes.

5 In this dear Christ I all things have;
Why should I yield to fear?
All that a living soul can crave,
Is richly treasured here.

6 In him I stand completely just;
His heart is my abode;
Though in myself, at best, but dust,
In him I’ve power with God.