Saviour, when e'er I search my heart,

What do I see imprinted there?

Idols from which I'm loth to part,

The tempter, and his fatal snare.

I see the world, its hopes and fears,

Its filthy lusts, its fatal pride:

I shun the path that's marked with tears,

Though trod by Jesus, crucified.

My thoughts on earthly objects rove,

The will for good avails me not;

The Saviour, I profess to love,

By me, alas, is oft forgot.

O wretched being that I am!

Who shall deliver from this death?

And quicken this poor dying frame,

Or fill my heart with living faith?

'Tis heavenly grace, and that alone,

Can cleanse me from this state of sin:

Redeeming love can now atone,

And make my guilty conscience clean.

Dear Saviour, all my steps direct,

And all these earthly lusts remove,

Thine image let my heart reflect,

The image of thy dying love.

Helpless and weak, O Lord, I stand,

Help me my mission to fulfill;

A vessel in the potter's hand,

O mould me to my Master's will.

Then when thou knockest I will hear,

And ope the door and let thee in:

Thou'lt see thine own blest image there,

And then a willing guest remain.

C. M. Willis.

Charlotte, Mich.

September 13, 1864 UrSe, ARSH 126