To thee, my God, I make my plaint;

To thee, my God, I make my plaint;
To thee my trembling soul draws near;
Let not thy chastening make me faint,
Nor guilt o'erwhelm me with despair.

What though thou frown to try my faith?
What though thy heavy hand afflict?
Thou wilt not give me up to death,
Not enter into judgment strict.

I know thy judgments, Lord, are right;
Thy rod commands me to repent;
If with my sin compared, 'tis light,
And all in faithfulness is sent.

What would my blood avail, if spilt?
Thou hast in richer blood been paid,
When all my dreadful debt of guilt
Was on my dying Saviour laid.

Then help me by thy grace to bear
Whate'er thou send to purge my dross;
If in his crown I hope to share,
Why should I grudge to bear his cross?

Though thou severely with me deal,
Still will I in thy mercy trust;
Accomplish in me all thy will;
Only remember I am dust.