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THE SINNER.

From the same.

When all the secrets of my heart
With horror, Lord, I see,
Thine is, I find, the smallest part,
Though all be due to Thee.
Thy footsteps scarce appear within,
But lusts a countless crowd;
The' immense circumference is sin,
A point is all my good.
O, break my bonds, let sin enthrall
My struggling soul no more;
Hear Thy fall'n creature's feeble call,
Thine image, O, restore!

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And though my heart, senseless and hard,
To Thee can scarcely groan,
Yet O, remember, gracious Lord,
Thou once didst write in stone!