1 How blest the Man, whose conscious Grief
From Thee, great God! has found Relief:
Whose Guilt thy boundless Love has veil'd,
His Fears compos'd, his Weakness heal'd!

2 My hunble Soul it's Crimes shall own:—
Behold me bow before thy Throne,
To Thee my inmost Guilt disclose,
And in thy Bosom pour my Woes.

3 But lo!— while yet my Hands I rear—
The Voice of Mercy to my Ear
Descends, and, whis'pring Peace within,
Confirms the Pardon of my Sin!

4 For this shall All, who Thee adore,
E'er yet the Day of Grace be o'er,
To Thee with stedfast Hope repair,
To Thee prefer th' unwearied Pray'r.