1 Dear Jesus here comes and knocks at thy door,
A beggar for crumbs, distressed and poor,
Blind, lame, and forsaken, all roll'd in his blood,
At last overtaken when running from God.

2 To ask children's bread I dare not presume,
But Lord to be fed with fragments I come,
Some crumbs from thy table, O let me obtain,
For, lo thou art able my wants to sustain.

3 I own I deserve no favour to see,
So long I did swerve and wander from thee,
'Till brought by affliction my follies to mourn,
Now under conviction to thee I return.

4 For since thou hast said thou wilt cast out none,
That fly to thine aid as sinners undone,
Now Lord I am come as condemned to die,
And on this sweet promise I humbly rely.

5 I cannot depart, dear Jesus, nor yield,
'Till feels my poor heart this promise fulfill'd,
That I may for ever a monument be,
To praise the dear Saviour of sinners like me.