Pierce, Fill Me With An Humble Fear;
My Utter Helplessness Reveal!
Satan And Sin Are Always Near,
Thee May I Always Nearer Feel.
O That To Thee My Constant Mind
Might With An Even Flame Aspire,
Pride In Its Earliest Motions Find,
And Mark The Risings Of Desire!
O That My Tender Soul Might Fly
The First Abhorred Approach Of Ill,
Quick As The Apple Of An Eye,
The Slightest Touch Of Sin To Feel!
Till Thou Anew My Soul Create,
Still May I Strive, And Watch, And Pray,
Humbly And Confidently Wait,
And Long To See The Perfect Day.
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