Oh Lord, bend my hands and cut them off
For I have often struck Thee with a wayward will
When these fingers should embrace Thee by faith.
I am not weaned from all created glory, honour, wisdom, and esteem of others;
For I have a secret motive to I, my name, in all I do.
Let me not only speak the word sin,
But see the thing itself.
Give me to view a discovered sinfulness;
To know that though my sins are crucified,
They are never wholly mortified.
Hatred, malice, ill will, vain glory that hungers for and hunts after man's approval and applause;
All are crucified, forgiven, but they rise again in my sinful heart.
Oh, my crucified, but never wholly mortified sinfulness!
Oh, my lifelong damage and daily shame!
Oh, my indwelling and besetting sins!
Oh, the tormenting slavery of my sinful heart!
Destroy, Oh God, the dark guest within whose hidden presence makes my life a hell!
Yet Thou hast not left me here without Grace.
The cross still stands and meets my needs in the deepest straits of the soul.
The memory of my great sins, my many temptations, my falls
Bring afresh into my mind the rememberence of Thy great help;
Of Thy support from Heaven;
Of the great Grace that saves such a wretch as I am.
There is no treasure so wonderful
As that continuous experience
Of Thy Grace towards me which alone can subdue the risings of sin within.
Give me more of it.