Augustus Montague Toplady
POEM XVIII.
FROM Justice's consuming flame, Saviour, I fly to thee; O look not on me as I am, But as I fain would be. Deserted in the way I lie, No cure for me is found: Thou, good Samaritan, pass by, And bind up every wound. O may I in the final day At thy right-hand appear! Take thou my sins out of the way, Who didst the burden bear. What though the fiery serpent's bite Hath poisoned ev'ry vein— I'll not despair, but keep in sight The wounds of Jesus slain. My soul thou wilt from death retrieve, For sorrow grant me joy, Thy power is mightier to save Than Satan's to destroy.