Tis I, Lord. I who wound Thee so cruelly
And Thou who died in my place - unduly.
Help me to master my passions unruly
That I might show I love Thee truly.

Before Thee I sit – resisting sleep
As heaviness upon my eyelids doth creep
Succor me, Lord, thru this vigil I keep
That all thru the night for my sins I may weep.

Shape me, mold me – make of me Thy instrument
To Thy great love, make me a testament.
My weak will oft acts to my detriment
Meld unto Thy will, my stubborn temperament.

I stay thru the night – til morn does emerge
And when my wayward thoughts diverge
O make my heart unto Thine heart converge.
My sinful nature - I beg thee purge.

My soul is scarred with blatant flaw
My frozen heart is in need of thaw
Yet upon this canvas so rough, so raw
Thru Thy grace a beauteous portrait draw

O fill this miserable sinner with grief
Wash me, cleanse me – give forgiving relief
Thy mercy immeasurable - my fondest belief
It gives me hope purgatory will be brief