O Father, list a sinner’s call! Fain would I hide from man my fall— But I must speak, or faint— I cannot wear guilt’s silent thrall: Cleanse me, kind Saint!
“Sinner ne’er blunted yet sin’s goad; Speed thee, my son, a safer road, And sue His pardoning smile Who walk’d woe’s depths, bearing man’s load Of guilt the while.”
Yet raise a mitigating hand, And minister some potion bland, Some present fever-stay! Lest one for whom His work was plann’d Die from dismay.
“Look not to me—no grace is mine; But I can lift the Mercy-sign. This wouldst thou? Let it be! Kneel down, and take the word divine, Absolvo Te.”