739    S.M.     John Berridge
The Soul Flying to Christ for Refuge. Heb. 6. 18

1 No help in self I find,
  And yet have sought it well;
  The native treasure of my mind
  Is sin, and death, and hell.

2 To Christ for help I fly,
  The Friend of sinners lost,
  A refuge sweet, and sure, and nigh,
  And there is all my trust.

3 Lord, grant me free access
  Unto thy piercèd side,
  For there I seek my dwelling-place,
  And there my guilt would hide.

4 In every time of need,
  My helpless soul defend,
  And save me from all evil deed,
  And save me to the end.

5 And when the hour is near
  That flesh and heart will fail,
  Do thou in all thy grace appear,
  And bid my faith prevail.