1 Though I should seek to wash me clean
In waters of the driven snow,
My soul would yet in spots retain,
And sink in conscious guilt and wo:

2 The spirit, in his power divine,
Would cast my vaunting soul to earth,
Expose the foulness of its sin,
And show the vileness of its worth.

3 Ah, not like erring man is God,
That men to answer him should dare.
Condemn'd, and into silence awed,
They helpless stand before his bar.

4 There, must a Mediator plead,
Who, God and man, may both embrace;
With God, for man to intercede,
And offer man the purchased grace.

5 And lo! the Son of God is slain
To be this Mediator crown'd:
In Him, my soul, be cleansed from stain,
In Him thy righteousness be found.