Lenten Hymn

When sinks my soul in terror
Of God who looks within,
Convicted of its error,
And conscious of its sin —

The bitterness, the coldness,
The pleasures that enthral,
The secret sin, the boldness,
The pride before the fall;

I make no vain defences,
I only know my need,
Christ died for my offences,
His blood alone I plead.

The wandering sheep He findeth
That stray'd into the dark,
The bruised reed He bindeth,
And fans the smould'ring spark.

Low at Thy Cross, O Saviour!
My soiled soul I lay,
My blots of past behaviour,
My failings of to-day.

No other under Heaven
Can strengthen and forgive,
No other name is given
Whereby the lost may live.