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How shall we climb the hill of God,
And stand before His face--
We, who in heedless ways have trod,
And scorned the thought of grace?
Our hands with guilty deeds are stained,
All that we touch is vile;
The things we sought for, and have gained,
With filthiness defile.
And in our hearts, the home of love,
No love of God resides;
No thought that wings its flight above,
Where purity abides.
But Thou wilt cleanse our filthiness,
And with Thy Spirit's fire
Consume the hateful sordidness,
That taints our souls' desire.
Then shall we climb the holy hill
With those whose hands are clean;
Such visions bright our minds shall fill
As by the pure are seen.
O God, our God, we worship low,
For Thou hast brought us nigh;
Grant us in holiness to grow,
Till we abide on high.