When at Thy Footstool, Lord, I Bend
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When at Thy footstool, Lord, I bend, And plead with thee for mercy there, Think of the sinner's dying Friend, And for His sake receive my prayer.
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Oh think not of my shame and guilt, My thousand stains of deepest dye; Think of the blood which Jesus split, My pardon and my life to buy.
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Think, Lord how I am still Thine own, The trembling creature of thy hand; Think; how my heart to sin prone, And what temptation around me stand.
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Oh think Lord upon thy holy word And every plighted promise there; How prayer should evermore be heard, and how thy glory is to spare.
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Oh think not of my doubts and fears, My strivings with thy grace divine, Think upon Jesus woes and tears, And let his merits stand for
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Thine eye, Thine ear, they are not dull; Thine arm can never shortened be; Behold me here; my heart is full, Behold, and spare, and succor