O Help My Unbelief by Isaac Watts

How sad our state by nature is!

Our sin, how deep it stains!

And Satan binds our captive minds

Fast in his slavish chains

But there's a voice of sov'reign grace,

Sounds from the sacred word:

"O, ye despairing sinners come,

And trust upon the Lord."

My soul obeys th' almighty call,

And runs to this relief

I would believe thy promise, Lord;

O help my unbelief!

To the dear fountain of thy blood,

Incarnate God, I fly;

Here let me wash my spotted soul,

From crimes of deepest dye.

Stretch out Thine arm, victorious King,

My reigning sins subdue;

Drive the old dragon from his seat,

With all his hellish crew.

A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,

On thy kind arms I fall;

Be thou my strength and righteousness,

My Jesus, and my all.