Were I so tall to reach the pole, Or grasp the ocean with my span, I must be measured by my soul; The mind's the standard of the man. - Isaac Watts

Lord, we confess our numerous faults, How great our guilt has been! Foolish and vain were all our thoughts, And all our lives were sin. 2 But O, my soul, for ever praise, For ever love his Name, Who turns thy feet from dangerous ways Of folly, sin, and shame. 3 'Tis not by works of righteousness Which our own hands have done; But we are sav'd by sovereign grace Abounding thro' his Son. 4 'Tis from the mercy of our God That all our hopes begin; 'Tis by the water and the blood Our souls are wash'd from sin. 5 'Tis thro' the purchase of his death, Who hung upon the tree,

Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.

When I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies,
I'll bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes.