William Cowper (1731–1800)

Dear Lord accept a sinful heart,

        Which of itself complains

And mourns, with much and frequent smart,

        The evil it contains.

There fiery seeds of anger lurk,

        Which often hurt my frame;

And wait but for the tempter’s work,

        To fan them to a flame.

Legality holds out a bribe

        To purchase life from thee;

And discontent would fain prescribe

        How thou shalt deal with me.

While unbelief withstands thy grace,

        And puts the mercy by;

Presumption, with a brow of brass,

        Says, „Give me, or I die.”

How eager are my thoughts to roam

        In quest of what they love!

But ah! when duty calls them home,

        How heavily they move!

Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour’s blood,

        Transform me by thy pow’r,

And make me thy belov’d abode,

        And let me rove no more.