Well, canst thou read thy heart,

Well, canst thou read thy heart,
And feel the plague of sin?
Does Sinai's thunder make thee start,
And conscience roar within?

Expect to find no balm
On nature's barren ground;
All human medicines will do harm;
They only skin the wound.

To Jesus Christ repair,
And knock at mercy's gate;
His blood alone can wash thee fair,
And make thy conscience sweet.

In season due he seals
A pardon on the breast;
The wounds of sin his Spirit heals,
And brings the gospel-rest.

So comes the peace of God,
Which cheers the conscience well;
And love shed in the heart abroad,
More sweet than we can tell.

Adopted sons perceive
Their kindred to the sky;
The Father's pardoning love receive,
And "Abba, Father," cry.