What Trivial Trash they Seem!

When I by faith my Maker see

In weakness and distress,

Brought down to that sad state for me

Which angels can’t express;

When that great God to whom I go

For help, amazed I view,

By sin and sorrow sunk as low

As I, and lower too;

For all our sins we his may call,

As he sustained their weight;

How huge the heavy load of all,

When only mine’s so great!

Then, ravished with the rich belief

Of such a love as this,

I’m lost in wonder, melt with grief,

And faint beneath the bliss.

Prostrate I fall, ashamed of doubt,

And worship love divine;

Thus may I always be devout;

Be this religion mine.

In this alone I can confide;

Here’s righteousness enough.

What’s all the boast of nature’s pride?

What unsubstantial stuff!

Rounds of dead service, forms, and ways,

Which some so much esteem,

Compared with this stupendous grace,

What trivial trash they seem!

Lord, help a worthless worm, so weak

He can do nothing good;

May all I act, or think, or speak,

Be sprinkled with thy blood!

Joseph Hart, Gadsby's Hymns, 105