1 Hence from my soul, my sins, depart,
Your fatal friendship now I see;
Long have you dwelt too near my heart:
Hence, to eternal distance flee.
2 Ye gave my dying Lord His wound,
Yet I caressed your viperous brood,
And in my heart-strings lapped you round,
You, the vile murderers of my God.
3 Black heavy thoughts, like mountains, roll
O’er my poor breast, with boding fears,
And crushing hard my tortured soul,
Wring thro’ my eyes the briny tears.
4 Forgive my treasons, Prince of Grace,
The bloody Jews were traitors too,
Yet Thou hast prayed for that cursed race,
"Father, they know not what they do."
5 Great Advocate, look down and see
A wretch, whose smarting sorrows bleed;
O plead the same excuse for me!
For, Lord, I knew not what I did.
6 Peace, my complaints; let every groan
Be still, and silence wait His love;
Compassions dwell amidst His throne,
And thro’ His inmost bowels move.
7 Lo, from the everlasting skies,
Gently, as morning dews distill,
The dove immortal downward flies,
With peaceful olive in his bill.
8 How sweet the voice of pardon sounds!
Sweet the relief to deep distress!
I feel the balm that heals my wounds,
And all my powers adore the grace.
Source: The Cyber Hymnal #12188
|Instances (1 - 1 of 1)||Title||First Line||Tune||Tune Key||Author||Meter||Scripture||Date||Subject||Source|
|The Cyber Hymnal #12188||Hence From My Soul, My Sins, Depart||Hence from my soul, my sins, depart||SALVETE FLORES||Isaac Watts||LM||<cite>Horae Lyricae</cite> 1709, Book 1|