Thou Son
of God,
Whose
flaming
eyes
Our inmost
thoughts
perceive,
Accept the
grateful
sacrifice
Which now
to Thee we
give.
We
bow before
Thy
gracious
throne,
And think
ourselves
sincere;
But show
us, Lord,
is
everyone
Thy real
worshiper?
Is here
a soul who
knows Thee
not,
Nor feels
his need
of Thee;
A stranger
to the
blood
which
bought
His pardon
on the
tree?
Convince
him now of
unbelief,
His
desperate
state
explain;
And his
fill his
heart with
sacred
grief,
And
penitential
pain.
Speak
with that
voice that
wakes the
dead,
And bid
the
sleeper
rise,
And bid
his guilty
conscience
dread
The death
that never
dies.
Extort
the cry,
�What must
be done
To save a
wretch
like me?
How shall
a
trembling
sinner
shun
That
endless
misery?
�I must
this
instant
now begin,
Out of my
sleep to
wake,
And turn
to God,
and every
sin
Continually
forsake.
�I must
for faith
incessant
cry,
And
wrestle,
Lord, with
Thee;
I must be
born
again, or
die
To all
eternity.�