SIN ! wilt thou vanquish me!
And shall I yield the victory?
Shall all my joys be spoiled,
And pleasures soiled
By thee!
Shall I remain
As one that's slain
And never more lift up the head?
Is not my Saviour dead!
His blood, thy bane, my balsam, bliss, joy, wine,
Shall thee destroy; heal, feed, make me divine.