You have imputed my sin to my substitute,
and have imputed his righteousness to my soul,
clothing me with a bridegroom’s robs,
decking me with jewels of holiness.

But in my Christian walk, I am still in rags;
my best prayers are stained with sin;
my penitential tears are so much impurity;
my confessions of wrong are so many aggravations of sin;
my receiving the Spirit is tinctured with selfishness.

I need to repent of my repentance;
I need my tears to be washed;
I have no robe to bring to cover my sins,
no loom to weave my own righteousness;

I am always standing clothed in filthy garments;
and by grace am always receiving change of raiment,
for you always justify the ungodly;

I am always going into the far country,
and always returning home as a prodigal,
always saying “Father, forgive me,”
and you are always bringing forth the best robe.

Every morning let me wear it,
every evening return in it,
go out to the day’s work in it,
be married in it,
be wound in death in it,
stand before the great while throne in it,
enter heaven in it shining as the sun.