Lord, I Despair Myself To Heal:
I See My Sin, But Cannot Feel;
I Cannot, Till Thy Spirit Blow,
And Bid The Obedient Waters Flow.
‘Tis Thine A Heart Of Flesh To Give,
Thy Gifts I Only Can Receive;
Here Then To Thee I All Resign;
To Draw, Redeem, And Seal, Is Thine.
With Simple Faith On Thee I Call,
My Light, My Life, My Lord, My All:
I Wait The Moving Of The Pool,
I Wait The Word That Speaks Me Whole.
Speak, Gracious Lord, My Sickness Cure,
Make My Infected Nature Pure;
Peace, Righteousness, And Joy Impart,
And Pour Thyself Into My Heart.
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