Awful is thy threatening, Lord;

Awful is thy threatening, Lord;
Let me mark the solemn word;
What the righteous Ruler saith:
"Wages due to sin is death."

Then I stand condemned to die
By the mouth of God most high.
Sins I have, a thousand too,
And a thousand deaths are due.

Should I spend my life in prayers,
Water all my couch with tears,
Turn from every evil past,
Still I am condemned and cast.

Lord, I own the sentence just,
Drop my head into the dust;
If my soul is cast to hell,
Thou, O Lord, art righteous still.

In myself I have no hope;
Justice every plea will stop;
Yet for mercy I may plead,
Springing from the church's Head.

Knock I may at Jesus' door,
Mercy for his sake implore,
Mercy, such as thou wilt give;
Show it, Lord, and let me live.