Verse 1
How gross our nature’s blindness is
Who spurn what Christ would fain bestow!
Diseas’d, we cherish the disease,
Nor will our kind Physician know;
The subject will not own his Prince,
The criminal his Judge implore,
The slave who frees him from his sins,
Or I a pardning God adore.
Verse 2
But ah, suffice the season past:
I now to my dread Lord submit,
My Judge I recognize at last,
And groan for mercy at thy feet:
Plac’d by thy Father’s arm Thou art,
A Prince and Saviour on the throne,
To certify my trembling heart
My Judge and Advocate are One.