Weary of earth and laden with my sin,
I look at heaven and long to enter in;
But there no evil thing may find a home,
And yet I hear a voice that bids me come.
So vile I am, how dare I hope to stand
In the pure glory of that holy land,—
Before the whiteness of that throne appear?
Yet there are hands stretched out to draw me near.
The while I fain would tread the heavenly way,
Evil is ever with me day by day: