Dear Lord! Accept A Sinful Heart, Which Of Itself Complains, And Mourns, With Much And Frequent Smart, The Evil It Contains. There Fiery Seeds Of Anger Lurk, Which Often Hurt My Frame; And Wait But For The Tempter'S Work, To Fan Them To A Flame. Legality Holds Out A Bribe To Purchase Life From Thee; And Discontent Would Fain Prescribe How Thou Shalt Deal With Me. While Unbelief Withstands Thy Grace, And Puts The Mercy By; Presumption, With A Brow Of Brass, Says, 'Give Me, Or I Die.' How Eager Are My Thoughts To Roam In Quest Of What They Love! But Ah! When Duty Calls Them Home, How Heavily They Move! Oh, Cleanse Me In A Saviour'S Blood, Transform Me By Thy Power, And Make Me Thy Beloved Abode, And Let Me Rove No More.