Out of the Depths I Cry to Thee

Out of the depths I cry to Thee;

Lord

hear me

I im­plore Thee!

Bend down Thy gra­cious ear to me;

I lay my sins be­fore Thee.

If Thou re­mem­ber­est each mis­deed

If each should have its right­ful meed

Who may ab­ide Thy pre­sence?

Thou grant­est par­don through Thy love;

Thy grace alone avail­eth;

Our works could ne’er our guilt re­move;

Yea

e’en the best life fail­eth.

For none may boast him­self of aught

But must con­fess Thy grace hath wrought

Whate’er in him is wor­thy.

And thus my hope is in the Lord

And not in my own mer­it;

I rest upon His faith­ful Word

To them of con­trite spir­it.

That He is mer­ci­ful and just

Here is my com­fort and my trust;

His help I wait with pa­tience.

And though it tar­ry till the night

And round till morn­ing wak­en

My heart shall ne’er mis­trust His might

Nor count it­self for­sak­en.

Do thus

O ye of Is­rael’s seed

Ye of the Spir­it born in­deed

Wait for our God’s ap­pear­ing.

Though great our sins and sore our woes

His grace much more ab­ound­eth;

His help­ing love no lim­it knows

Our ut­most need it sound­eth;

Our kind and faith­ful shep­herd

He

Who shall at last set Is­ra­el free

From all their sin and sor­row.