4 These-and every secret fault, Filled with grief and shame, we own: Humbled at thy feet we lie,
Seeking pardon from thy throne! 5 God of mercy! God of grace! Hear our sad, repentant songs, Oh restore thy suppliant race, Thou, to whom our praise belongs!
The Penitent surrendering.
1 LORD, thou hast won-at length I yield; My heart, by mighty grace compelled, Surrenders all to thee:
Against thy terrors long I strove, But who can stand against thy love?— Love conquers even me.
2 If thou hadst bid thy thunders roll, And lightnings flash to blast my soul, I still had stubborn been: But mercy has my heart subdued, A bleeding Saviour I have viewed, And now, I hate my sin.
mf 3 Now, Lord, I would be thine alone; Come, take possession of thine own, For thou hast set me free;
Released from Satan's hard command, See all my powers in waiting stand, To be employed by thee.
Repentance in View of Christ's Compassion. 1 DID Christ o'er sinners weep,
And shall our cheeks be dry? Let floods of penitential grief Burst forth from every eye. 2 The Son of God in tears-
The wondering angels see! Be thou astonished, Ŏ my soul! He shed those tears-for thee. 3 He wept-that we might weep- Each sin demands a tear;- In heaven alone no sin is found, And there's no weeping there.
1 DEAR Saviour! when my thoughts recall The wonders of thy grace, Low at thy feet, ashamed, I fall, And hide this wretched face.
2 Shall love like thine be thus repaid? Ah! vile, ungrateful heart !
By earth's low cares detained--betrayed From Jesus to depart :-
3 From Jesus-who alone can give True pleasure, peace, and rest: When absent from my Lord, I live Unsatisfied, unblest.
4 But he, for his own mercy's sake, My wandering soul restores:
He bids the mourning heart partake The pardon it implores.
5 Oh! while I breathe to thee, my Lord, The humble, contrite sigh, Confirm the kind, forgiving word, With pity in thine eye!
6 Then shall the mourner at thy feet Rejoice to seek thy face;
And, grateful, own low kind-how sweet Is thy forgiving grace.
7s. Norwich. Pleyel's Hymn.
1 DEPTH of mercy!--can there be Mercy still reserved for me! Can my God his wrath forbear? Me, the chief of sinners spare? 2 I have long withstood his grace; Long provoked him to his face; Would not hear his gracious calls; Grieved him by a thousand falls. 3 Yet how great his mercies are! Me he still delights to spare; Cries-"How shall I give thee up?" Lets the lifted thunder drop.
4 Jesus, answer from above: Is not all thy nature love?
Wilt thou not the wrong forget ?— Lo, I fall before thy feet.
5 Now incline me to repent! Let me now my fall lament! Deeply my revolt deplore ! Weep, believe, and sin no more.
284 Sins bewailed as causing the Death of Christ.
1 OH, if my soul was formed for wo, How would I vent my sighs! Repentance should like rivers flow From both my streaming eyes.
2 "Twas for my sins my dearest Lord Hung on the cursed tree,
And groaned away a dying life, For thee, my soul, for thee.
3 Oh, how I hate those lusts of mine, That crucified my Lord;
Those sins, that pierced and nailed his flesh Fast to the fatal wood!
fl 4 Yes, my Redeemer-they shall die- My heart has so decreed; Nor will I spare the guilty things. That made my Saviour bleed.
5 While with a melting, broken heart, My murdered Lord I view- I'll raise revenge against my sins, And slay the murderers too.
Self-righteous Hopes renounced.
1 VAIN are the hopes the sons of men On their own works have built; Their hearts by nature all unclean, And all their actions guilt.
2 Let Jew and Gentile stop their mouth Without a murmuring word,
Let all the race of man confess Their guilt before the Lord.
3 In vain we ask God's righteous law To justify us now;
Since to convince, and to condemn Is all the law can do.
mf 4 Jesus, how glorious is thy grace!— When in thy name we trust,
Our faith receives a righteousness That makes the sinner just.
Uxbridge. Alfreton 1 NO more, my God-I boast no more Of all the duties I have done; I quit the hopes I held before, To trust the merits of thy Son. 2 Now, for the love I bear his name, What was my gain, 1 count my loss;. My former pride I call my shame,
And nail my glory to his cross. 3 Yes-and I must and will esteem
All things but loss for Jesus' sake; Oh! may my soul be found in him, And of his righteousness partake. 4 The best obedience of my hands
Dares not appear before thy throne; But faith can answer thy demands, By pleading what my Lord has done. Spencer. Grafton.
1 PROSTRATE, dear Jesus, at thy feet, A guilty rebel lies;
And upwards to thy mercy-seat Presumes to lift his eyes.
2 If tears of sorrow would suffice To pay the debt I owe,
Tears should from both my weeping eyes In ceaseless torrents flow.
3 But no such sacrifice I plead To expiate my guilt;
No tears, but those which thou hast shed- No blood, but thou hast spilt.
4 I plead thy sorrows, dearest Lord; Do thou my sins forgive:
Thy justice will approve the word, That bids the sinner live.
1 FATHER of mercies-God of love! Oh! hear a humble suppliant's cry; Bend from thy lofty seat above, Thy throne of glorious majesty: Oh! deign to hear my mournful voice, And bid my drooping heart rejoice.
2 I urge no merits of my own,
No worth, to claim thy gracious smile : No-when I bow before thy throne-
Dare to converse with God awhile- Thy name, blest Jesus, is my plea— Dearest and sweetest name to me! 3 Father of mercies-God of love! Then hear thy humble suppliant's cry; Bend from thy lofty seat above,
Thy throne of glorious majesty:
One pardoning word can make me whole, And soothe the anguish of my soul.
Alfreton. Uxbridge. 1 AWAKED from sin's delusive sleep, My heavy guilt I feel, and weep: Beneath a weight of woes oppressed, I come to thee, my Lord, for rest. 2 Now, from thy throne of bliss above, Shed down a look of heavenly love; That balm shall sweeten all my pain, And bid my soul rejoice again. 3 By thy divine, transforming power, My ruined nature now restore; And let my life and temper shine, In blest resemblance, Lord, to thine.
1 LORD, I approach the mercy-seat, Where thou dost answer prayer; There humbly fall before thy feet, For none can perish there.
2 Thy promise is my only plea; With this I venture nigh; Thou callest burdened souls to thee, And such, O Lord, am I.
3 Bowed down beneath a load of sin, By Satan sorely pressed,
By war without, and fear within, I come to thee for rest.
mf 4 Be thou my shield and hiding-place; That, sheltered near thy side, I may my fierce accuser face, And tell him-thou hast died.
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