How sad our state by nature is. Our sin, how deep it stains. And Satan binds our captive minds fast in his slavish chains. But there's a voice of sovereign grace sounds from the sacred word. Oh, ye despairing sinners, come and trust upon the Lord. My soul obeys the almighty call and runs to this relief. I would believe that promise, Lord. Oh, help my unbelief. To the dear fountain of thy blood, incarnate God, I fly. Here, let me wash my spotted soul from crimes of deepest die. Stretch out thy arm, victorious king. My reigning sins subdue. Drive the old dragon from his seat with all his hellish crew. A guilty, weak, and helpless worm, on thy kind arms I fall. Be thou my strength and righteousness, my Jesus, and my all.