1 O God of mercy, view my pleading tears,
And hear a contrite sinner's earnest pray'rs;
2 My spotted soul from her defilements, clean;
O wash me, cleanse me, from my crying sin;
3 With shame, with anguish, I my crime confess;
Abash'd, I own my horrid wickedness:
4 'Gainst thee I've sinn'd; my monstrous guilt thou view'st,
And with immediate vengeance strict pursuest;
That man may own impartial justice thine,
And curb their impious tongues 'gainst pow'r divine.
5 But ah! remember, Lord, tho' great my blame,
E'en from the womb my first infection came;
In sin was I conceiv'd, in sin brought forth,
And came a vile offender from the birth.
6 While thou, a soul from all contagion free,
Dost still demand, rich in simplicity,
A soul, with wisdom arm'd, with innocence,
A soul, unspotted by the crimes of sense.
7 Be thine the glorious work O let me shew
Far purer in thy sight than whitest snow.
8 With peace, with joy, with gladness fill my mind,
'Till my faint limbs their wonted vigour find;
9 Let not thine eye my mocking guilt survey,
But wash the filth of all my sins away:
10 Cleanse thou my heart, O God, from ev'ry stain,
Renew my soul that she her health regain;
11 And not in anger turn away thy face,
But still with thy enliv'ning spirit bless:
12 O still my hopes of happiness restore;
Uphold me still, that I may fall no more.
13 So shall transgressors, who thy mercy see,
Forsake their errors, and give praise to thee:
14 O free me from the blood I basely spilt,
cleanse my soul from her enormous guilt.
Then shall my tongue thy tender mercies sing,
Thy righteous justice hymn, all-gracious king.
15 Ope then my lips, O Lord, and I will raise
My grateful voice, to celebrate thy praise;
16 The offer'd victim thou dost not demand;
The victim else shou'd 'fore thy altar stand:
17 Pleas'd with a nobler sacrifice thou art;
A broken spirit and a contrite heart.
18 Still Sion's hill, still Salem's walls defend;
Be still, O God, thy people's pow'rful friend;
19 Then pure their offrings, pure their hearts shall be,
The chastest vows shall they put up to thee;
The fatted goat thy sacred fires shall feed,
And the young bullock at thy altar bleed.
Source: New Version of the Psalms of David #LI