Prostrate, dear Jesus, at Thy feet, A guilty rebel lies; And upwards to Thy mercy seat, Presumes to lift his eyes. If tears of sorrow would suffice To pay the debt I owe, Tears should from both my weeping eyes In ceaseless torrents flow. But no such sacrifice I plead To expiate my guilt; No tears but those which Thou hast shed No blood, but Thou hast spilt. Think of Thy sorrows, dearest Lord, And all my sins forgive: Justice will well approve the word That bids the sinner live.
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