Backward with humble shame we look
On our original;
How is our nature dashed and broke
In our first father’s fall!
To all that’s good averse and blind,
But prone to all that’s ill;
What dreadful darkness veils our mind!
How obstinate our will!
Conceived in sin, O wretched state!
Before we draw our breath;
The first young pulse begins to beat
Iniquity and death.
How strong in our degenerate blood
The old corruption reigns,
And, mingling with the crooked flood,
Wanders through all our veins.
Wild and unwholesome as the root
Will all the branches be;
How can we hope for living fruit
From such a deadly tree?
What mortal power from things unclean
Can pure productions bring?
Who can command a vital stream
From an infected spring?
Yet, mighty God! Thy wondrous love
Can make our nature clean,
While Christ and grace prevail above
The tempter, death and sin.
The second Adam shall restore
The ruins of the first;
Hosannah to that sovereign power
That new-creates our dust!