Classic Poem

Psalm LI

On a soul with sins encumber'd,
 Lord, have pity and redeem,
As thy mercies are unnumber'd,
 And thy goodness is extream.

Wash me throughly so polluted
 With this hateful filth within;
Let thy merit be imputed
 To my tears to cleanse my sin.

For by faith and fair confession
 I my follies have resign'd,
And a sense of my transgression
 Is for ever in my mind.

Thee, thine awful presence solely
 Has my sin prophan'd, and shown
That thou art most true, most holy,
 When thy words and works are known.

Lo! I was engender'd vicious,
 And the lump within the womb,
Made against the Lord malicious,
 Did false principles assume.

But internal truth demanding,
 Thou hast search'd me to the heart;
And to raise my understanding
 Secret wisdom shalt impart.

With the wholesome hyssop purging,
 Pure again my veins shall flow,
And in springing baths immerging,
 Thou shalt make me white as snow.

Thou shalt make me hear the voices
 Which with joy thy name invoke,
As thy healing pow'r rejoices
 All the bones that thou hast broke

Turn thee from my foul disgraces,
 Nor my soul in terror plunge;
Spare my sins, and all the traces
 Of my evil deeds expunge.

With another heart endue me,
 And my tainted vitals clean;
In the spirit, Lord, renew me,
 And my troubled mind serene.

Cast me not away for ever
 From the glory of thy face,
Nor my sinking soul dissever
 From the spirit of thy grace.

O console me to inherit
 All my part in thee again,
And confirm me with thy spirit
 Thy true freedom to maintain

So shall I, so prone to trample
 And thy holy laws desert,
Both by precept and example
 Sinners to thy ways convert

Rid me from this guilt's compunction,
 Lord, with healing in thy wing,
And my tongue, in sweet conjunction
 With my harp, thy truth shall sing.

With thy blessed inspiration,
 Lord, thou shalt my lips unseal,
And my mouth with exultation
 Shall thy glorious laud reveal.

Gifts for thy returning favour
 I would give, didst thou require;
But thou likest not the savour
 Which is wafted from the fire

God's best off'ring is contrition
 From a man divinely meek;
Thou reject'st not the condition
 Of a heart at point to break.

O again be good and gracious,
 Zion's ruin'd state review;
Walls so high and streets so spacious,
 Come and build her up anew.

Thus our all-benign Creator
 We shall better please and praise;
Pray'r and gratitude are greater
 Than when loaded altars blaze.