Out of the deep I cry to Thee;
O Lord God, hear my cry­ing;
Incline Thy gra­cious ear to me,
With pray­er to Thee ap­ply­ing.
For if Thou fix Thy search­ing eye
On sin and all ini­qui­ty,
Who, Lord, can stand be­fore Thee?

But love and grace with Thee pre­vail,
O God! our sins for­giv­ing!
The ho­li­est deeds can naught pre­vail
Of all be­fore Thee liv­ing.
Before Thee none can boast him clear;
Therefore must each Thy judg­ment fear,
And live on Thy com­pass­ion.

For this my hope in God shall rest,
Naught build­ing on my mer­it:
My heart con­fides, of Him pos­sessed:
His good­ness stays my spi­rit.
His pre­cious blood as­sur­eth me
My sol­ace, my sure rock is He;
Hereon my soul abid­eth.

And though I wait the live­long night,
And till the morn re­turn­eth,
My heart un­doubt­ing trusts His might,
Nor in im­pa­tience mourn­eth.
Born of His Spi­rit Is­ra­el
In the right way thus far­eth well,
And on his God re­pos­eth.

What though our sins are ma­ni­fold,
Supreme His mer­cy reign­eth;
No li­mit can His hand with­hold,
Where ev­il most ob­tain­eth.
He the good Shep­herd is alone,
Who Is­ra­el will re­deem and own,
Forgiving all trans­gress­ion.