Fain Would I, Lord of Grace

Fain would I

Lord of grace

With pe­ni­ten­tial tears

The re­cord of my sins ef­face

That in Thy book ap­pears:

Fain would I jour­ney hence

In garb of stain­less white

And made by mine own pe­ni­tence

Well pleas­ing in Thy sight.

Fond idle dream! the foe

But lures and fools my soul;

Not all my tears can peace be­stow—

Thou on­ly mak­est whole.

Hath ev­er sail­or tossed

Or suf­fer­er racked in pain

Within Thine an­chor­age been lost

Or found Thy Gi­le­ad vain?

Maker and hope of all!

Wounded and sick am I:

Great Heal­er

save me

lest I fall

And per­ish ut­ter­ly.

Can bound­less love re­ject?

Shall mer­cy say me nay

Who cry with all Thine own elect

Before Thee

night and day?