If blessings follow, then what joy for me!
If naught but sin, all mine the shame must be,
For that was not determined by the King.
I hasten, trembling, to confess the whole
Of my transgressions, ere I reach the goal
Where mine own words must witness 'gainst my soul,
And who dares doubt the writing of the King?
Erring, I wandered in the wilderness,
In passion's grave nigh sinking powerless:
Now deeply I repent, in sore distress,