When with a Mind Devoutly Pressed

When with a mind devout­ly pressed

Dear Sav­ior! my re­volv­ing breast

Would past of­fens­es trace;

Trembling

I make the black re­view

Yet pleased be­hold

ad­mir­ing too

The pow­er of chang­ing grace.

This tongue

with blas­phe­mies de­filed

These feet

to err­ing paths be­guiled

In heav’n­ly league agree;

Who could be­lieve such lips could praise

Or think my dark and wind­ing ways

Should ev­er lead to Thee?

These eyes

that once abused their sight

Now lift to Thee their wa­te­ry light

And weep a si­lent flood;

These hands as­cend in cease­less pray­er

O wash away the stains they wear

In pure

re­deem­ing blood.

These ears

that pleased could en­ter­tain

The mid­night oath

the lust­ful strain

When round the fes­tal board;

Now deaf to all th’en­chant­ing noise

Avoid the throng

de­test their joys

And press to hear Thy word.

Thus art Thou served in ev­ery part.

And wouldst Thou but trans­form my heart

That dros­sy thing re­fine;

That grace may na­ture’s strength con­trol

And a new crea­ture—bo­dy—soul

Be all

be ev­er Thine.