1 Prostrate, dear Jesus, at thy feet
A guilty rebel lies;
And upwards to thy mercy seat
Presumes to lift his eyes.

2 Oh, let not justice frown me hence;
Stay, stay the vengeful storm:
Forbid it that omnipotence
Should crush a feeble worm.

3 If tears of sorrow would suffice
To pay the debt i owe,
Tears should from both my weeping eyes
In ceaseless currents flow.

4 But no such sacrifice I plead
To expiate my guilt;
No tears, but those which thou hast shed,
No blood, but thou hast spilt.