Bend my hands and cut them off,

          for I have often struck thee with

   a wayward will,

   when these fingers should embrace thee by faith.

I am not yet weaned from all created glory,

   honour, wisdom, and esteem of others,

   for I have a secret motive to eye my name

     in all I do.

Let me not only speak the word sin, but see

     the thing itself.

Give me to view a discovered sinfulness,

   to know that though my sins are crucified

     they are never wholly mortified.

Hatred, malice, ill-will,

   vain-glory that hungers for and hunts after

   man’s approval and applause,

   all are crucified, forgiven,

   but they rise again in my sinful heart.

O my crucified but never wholly mortified

   sinfulness!

O my life-long damage and daily shame!

O my indwelling and besetting sins!

O the tormenting slavery of a sinful heart!

Destroy, O God, the dark guest within

   whose hidden presence makes my life a hell.

Yet thou hast not left me here without grace;

The cross still stands and meets my needs

   in the deepest straits of the soul.

I thank thee that my remembrance of it

   is like David’s sight of Goliath’s sword

     which preached forth thy deliverance.

The memory of my great sins, my many

   temptations, my falls,

   bring afresh into my mind the remembrance

     of thy great help, of thy support from heaven,

     of the great grace that saved such a wretch

       as I am.

There is no treasure so wonderful

   as that continuous experience of thy grace

      toward me which alone can subdue

        the risings of sin within:

Give me more of it.