1 Pierce, fill me with an humble fear;
My utter helplessness reveal:
Satan and sin are always near,
Thee may I always nearer feel.
2 Oh! that to thee my constant mind
Might with an even flame aspire;
Pride in its earliest motions find,
And mark the risings of desire.
3 Oh! that my tender soul might fly,
The fist abhorr'd approach of ill;
Quick as the apple of an eye
The slightest touch of sin to feel!
4 Till thou anew my soul create,
Still may I strive, and watch, and pray,
Humbly and confidently wait,
And long to see the perfect day.
Source: A Pocket Hymn Book: designed as a constant companion for the pious, collected from various authors (9th ed.) #HXVII