The embers ebb within my soul,
Oh Lord, they do burn low,
Bring thy word to the coal,
And there, the mighty billows blow.
God, pluck my eyes from off this world,
My God, move this mind to thee,
‘Fore Satan’s hand is curled,
And set to engulf all of me.
Creation’s King, how we should praise,
We, the work of your fingers,
How should all joyously raise,
Hymnal chorus, mortal singers.