Lord I Would Spread My Sore Distress
Lord, I would spread my sore distress
And guilt before Thine eyes;
Against Thy laws, against Thy grace,
How high my crimes arise!
I from the stock of Adam came,
Unholy and unclean;
All my original is shame,
And all my nature sin.
Cleanse me, O Lord, and cheer my soul
With Thy forgiving love;
And make my broken spirit whole,
And bid my pains remove.
Let not Thy spirit e’er depart,
Nor drive me from Thy face;
Create anew my sinful heart,
And fill it with Thy grace.