Classic Poem

When sinks my soul in terror
Of God who looks within,
Convicted of its error,
And conscious of its sin—
The bitterness, the coldness,
The pleasures that enthral,
The secret sin, the boldness,
The pride before the fall;

I make no vain defences,
I only know my need,
Christ died for my offences,
His blood alone I plead.
The wandering sheep He findeth
That stray'd into the dark,
The bruisèd reed He bindeth,
And fans the smould'ring spark.

Low at Thy Cross, O Saviour!
My soilèd soul I lay,
My blots of past behaviour,
My failings of to-day.
No other under Heaven
Can strengthen and forgive,
No other name is given
Whereby the lost may live.