Born with sin’s thorn from the womb,
And soon turned to worms’ food—the tomb.
O what comfort can I find
In this poor heart and mind?

Is there any grace or solace
That my longing heart can embrace?
A place, or some welcomed face?
O this yearning ache—replace!

Yet there is hope: a look to the Saviour;
So turn to Him this very hour.
Trust in His blood and saving power—
New life in Christ, like a fresh summer flower.

No more shall death my soul dismay,
Nor fears of judgment bar my way;
For He has borne the sinner’s doom,
And robbed the grave of all its gloom.

Then, in eternal rest above,
I shall behold the highest love—
God’s blissful grace, His holy kiss,
Descending on a soul once amiss,
Like a dove of peace, so pure, so true,
Making all things bright and new.