8,8,8,8

Hatred of sin.

Holy LORD GOD! I love thy truth,

Nor dare thy least commandment slight;

Yet pierced by sin, the serpent's tooth,

I mourn the anguish of the bite.

But though the poison lurks within,

Hope bids me still with patience wait;

Till death shall set me free from sin,

Free from the only thing I hate.

Had I a throne above the rest,

Where angels and archangels dwell;

One sin, unslain, within my breast,

Would make that heav'n as dark as hell.

The pris'ner, sent to breathe fresh air,

And blessed with liberty again,

Would mourn, were he condemned to wear

One link of all his former chain.

But O! no foe invades the bliss,

When glory crowns the christian's head;

One view of Jesus as he is,

Will strike all sin for ever dead.