1 O Lord I pary thee to forgive,
Tho' I'm a wretch unfit to live;
Thy mercy Lord is ever free,
To sinners wretched like to me.
2 O may thy pardoning grace be found,
Behold me prostrate on the ground;
My soul would find its proper place,
To seek thy favour and thy face.
3 Lord I am vile but thou art good,
I plead the merit of thy blood;
Thy grace alone must set me free,
If freedom, life, or peace I see.
4 If thou wilt wash me in thy blood,
The praise and thanks I'll give to God,
I'll tell the wonders of thy grace,
That sinners vile may seek thy face.
5 They'll say if such a wretch as that,
The praises of the Lord repeat;
'Twill do for me to seek his face,
And trust the riches of his grace.
6 O may the wretched race of men,
Their Maker's praise anew begin;
O may we see ere it belong,
The Nations join the living song.
7 How will the echo spread around,
The blessed angels here the sound;
The heavens will then begin their joy,
To see how we our tongues employ.
Source: Hymns on Various Subjects #22