Backward with Humble Shame We Look

Backward with hum­ble shame we look

On our orig­in­al;

How is our na­ture dashed and broke

In our first fa­ther’s fall!

To all that’s good averse and blind

But prone to all that’s ill;

What dread­ful dark­ness veils our mind!

How ob­sti­nate our will!

Conceived in sin

O wretch­ed state!

Before we draw our breath;

The first young pulse be­gins to beat

Iniquity and death.

How strong in our de­ge­ne­rate blood

The old cor­rupt­ion reigns

And

ming­ling with the crook­ed flood

Wanders through all our veins.

Wild and un­whole­some as the root

Will all the branch­es be;

How can we hope for liv­ing fruit

From such a dead­ly tree?

What mor­tal pow­er from things un­clean

Can pure pro­duct­ions bring?

Who can com­mand a vi­tal stream

From an in­fect­ed spring?

Yet

migh­ty God! Thy won­drous love

Can make our na­ture clean

While Christ and grace pre­vail above

The tempt­er

death and sin.

The se­cond Ad­am shall re­store

The ru­ins of the first;

Hosannah to that sov­er­eign pow­er

That new-cre­ates our dust!