1 When I behold my bleeding God,
Each mountain seems a plain;
But if I e'er forget his blood,
The mountains rise again.

2 What means my inbred sense, so rude,
To war against my peace?
Or why should reason bold intrude
Upon a Saviour's grace?

3 What tho' my senses loudly say,
I have nor faith, nor love;
Nor am I in the living way
That leads to realms above.

4 What if still to increase my grief,
It summons lust and pride,
Hardness of heart, and unbelief,
And all my ills beside:

5 And, from the whole, would witness this,
Thou art devoid of grace;
How canst thou hope, in worlds of bliss,
To see the Saviour's face?

6 To this, the witness of my Lord,
Greater than all in me,
Replies in his unerring word,
The Saviour's grace is free.