Verse 1
To Thee, great Friend of helpless man,
Doubly oppress’d by sin and pain,
For aid I feebly cry:
O might I but thy grace retrieve,
One moment in thine image live,
And in thine image die!

Verse 2
I cannot live, or die in peace,
Till Thou my strugling soul release
From passion’s tyranny:
My spirit, and my flesh it tears,
And shakes my faith, and damps my prayers
And drives me back from Thee.

Verse 3
I reason, and resolve in vain,
I weep, and rise, and fall again
By furious wrath subdued,
Life’s latest, golden sands I lose
The patience of my friends abuse,
And weary out my God.

Verse 4
Nor generous hope, nor servile fear,
Nor death with hasty strides drawn near
And brandishing his dart,
This proud, impetuous spirit can tame,
Or sink the leopard to a lamb,
Or make me meek in heart.

Verse 5
Tormentor of myself I rove,
Tormentor of the man I love,
Or seem to love so well,
Rest I pursue with vehemence vain,
Relief I seek by giving pain,
And spreading my own hell.

Verse 6
A sinner tottering o’re the grave,
What shall I do myself to save,
Or how for death prepare?
As weak in body as in mind
No succour in myself I find,
No fitness but despair.

Verse 7
Then let thy own compassions plead,
Then let the cry that woke the dead
And rent the rocks in twain,
My stubborn soul and spirit part,
And break my adamantine heart,
And bind it up again.