Why Does Your Face, Ye Humble Souls

Why does your face

ye hum­ble souls

Those mourn­ful colors wear!

What doubts are these that waste your faith

And nour­ish your des­pair?

What though your nu­mer­ous sins ex­ceed

The stars that fill the skies

And aim­ing at th’eter­nal throne

Like point­ed mount­ains rise:

What though your migh­ty guilt be­yond

The wide cre­ation swell

And has its cursed foun­da­tions laid

Low as the deeps of hell:

See here an end­less ocean flows

Of nev­er-fail­ing grace;

Behold a dy­ing Sav­ior’s veins

The sac­red flood in­crease.

It ris­es high

and drowns the hills

Has nei­ther shore nor bound:

Now

if we search to find our sins

Our sins can ne’er be found.

Awake

our hearts

ad­ore the grace

That bur­ies all our faults;

And par­don­ing blood

that swells ab­ove

Our foll­ies and our thoughts.