when at thy footstool lord i bend

when at thy footstool, lord, i bend,
and plead with thee for mercy there,
think of the sinner’s dying friend,
and for his sake receive my prayer.

o think not of my shame and guilt,
my thousand stains of deepest dye;
think of the blood which jesus spilt,
and let that blood my pardon buy.

think, lord, how i am still thine own,
the trembling creature of thy hand;
think how my heart to sin is prone,
and what temptations round me stand.

o think upon thy holy word,
and every plighted promise there;
how prayer should evermore be heard,
and how thy glory is to spare.

o think not of my doubts and fears,
my strivings with thy grace divine;
think upon jesus’ woes and tears,
and let his merits stand for mine.

thine eyes, thine ear, they are not dull;
thine arm can never shortened be;
behold me here; my heart is full;
behold, and spare, and succor me.