On the Death of Thomas Beard, Hymn 2

O Thou gentle Lamb of God,
Hear Thy ransom'd follower pray,
Wash me in Thy cleansing blood,
Bear my inbred sin away;
All the curse, the plague remove,
All the hell of creature-love.

Take the guilt and power of sin,
Take its cursed relics hence;
Make me throughly pure within
By Thy love's omnipotence;
Let me all Thy nature have,
Feel Thine utmost power to save.

Bounds I will not set to Thee,
Shorten Thine almighty hand:
Save from all iniquity,
Let not sin's foundations stand,
Every stone o'erturn, o'erthrow;
I believe it may be so.

Wilt Thou top the boughs of sin,
Leaving still the stock behind?
No, Thy love shall work within,
Quite expel the carnal mind,
Root and branch destroy my foe;
I believe it shall be so.