MY Sovereign, to thy throne
With awful hope I press.
Humble thyself to hear the groan
Of indigent distress.

Thy royal Priest appears
Before thee with his blood:
Through him I offer these my tears,
And cast my care on God.

My youth, bow'd down with pain,
Mourns its decaying bloom.
Lord, clothe these bones with flesh again;
O spare me from the tomb.

Without one murm'ring word,
Thy chast'ning I receive;
But ask, submissive, gracious Lord,
A merciful reprieve.

Day following day, my pray'r
Has wrestled with thy grace.
Let not confusion be the share,
Of them who seek thy face.

Was e'er thy bounteous mind
Unwilling to bestow?
E'er to a sinner's sighs unkind,
Or in forgiving slow?

Needy and poor, as now,
I once thy aid implor'd:
Thy pity heard affliction's vow,
Thy pow'r my health restor'd.

My supplicating voice
Unweary'd I will raise:
Say to thy servant's soul, " rejoice; "
And fill my tongue with praise.