Foul—I to Thy fountain fly;
Cleanse me, Savior, or I die!
Not the labors of my hands
Can fulfill Thy law’s demands.
Could my zeal no respite know—
Could my tears for ever flow—
All for sin could not atone;
Thou must save, and Thou alone!
While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eye-strings break in death,