V
Sins grew a heavy load and cold,
And pressed me to the dust;
“Whither,” I cried, “can this be rolled
Ere I behold the Just?”
But now I claim them for my own;
Thy face I needs must find;
Lo! thus I wrought, yea, I alone,
Not weak, beguiled, or blind.
See my full arms, my heaped-up shame,
An evil load I bring:
Thou, God, art a consuming flame,
Accept the hateful thing.
Pronounce the dread condemning word,
I stand in blessed fear;
Dear is Thy cleansing wrath, O Lord,
The fire that burns is dear.