by Cowper.
"Since the dear hour that brought me to thy foot,
And cut up all my follies by the root,
I never trusted in an arm but thine;
Nor hoped but in thy righteousness Divine,
My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled,
Were but the feeble efforts of a child;
Howe'er perform'd, this was their brightest part,
That they were offerings of a thankful heart;
I cast them at thy feet, my only plea
Is, what it was,--dependence upon thee;
While struggling in the vale of griefs below,
This never failed, nor shall it fail me now."
