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