1 Lord, when I hear thy children talk,
(And I believe 'tis often true)
How with delight thy ways they walk,
And gladly thy commandments do.
2 In my own breast I look, and read
Accounts so very different there,
That had I not thy blood to plead,
Each sight would sink me to despair.
3 Needy, and naked, and unclean,
Empty of good, and full of ill,
A lifeless lump of loathsome sin,
Without the power to act or will.
4 I feel my fainting spirits droop;
My wretched leanness I deplore,
'Till gladdened with a gleam of hope
From this, "The Lord has blessed the poor."
5 Then while I make my secret moan,
Upwards I cast my eyes and see,
Though I have nothing of my own,
My treasure is immense in thee.
6 Still may I keep thy love in view,
Lean there; nor envy those that run;
Still trust to--not what I can do,
But what thyself hast for me done.
7 My treasure is thy precious blood
Fix there my heart: and for the rest,
Under thy forming hands, my God,
Give me that frame which thou lik'st best.
The Christian's duty, exhibited in a series of hymns, 1791