1 How sad our state by nature is;
Our sin how deep its stains;
And Satan binds our captive minds
Fast in his slavish chains.

2 But there’s a voice of sovereign grace
Sounds from the sacred word;
“Ho! ye despairing sinners come,
And trust upon the Lord.”

3 My soul obeys the almighty call,
And runs to this relief;
I would believe thy promise, Lord;
O help my unbelief.

4 To the dear fountain of thy blood,
Incarnate God, I fly;
Here let me wash my spotted soul
From crimes of deepest dye.

5 Stretch out thy arm, victorious King,
My reigning sins subdue;
Drive the old dragon from his seat,
With all his hellish crew.

6 A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,
On thy kind arms I fall,
Be thou my strength and righteousness,
My Jesus, and my all.