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And help me to believe; Simply do I now draw near,
Thy blessing to receive: Full of guilt, alas ! I am;
Put to thy wounds for refuge flee: Friend of finners, spotlefs Lamb,
Thy blood was fhed for me.
Nothing have I, Lurd, to pay,
Nor can thy grace procure; Empty send me not away,
For 1, thou know'st, am poor; Dust and ashes is my name,
My all is fin and misery; Friend of finners, spotless Lamb,
Thy blood was shed for me.
Without money, without price,
I come thy love to buy; From myself I turn my eyes,
The chief of Gnners I: Take, take me as I am,
And let me lose myself in thee;
Friend of finners, Spotless Lamb,
Thy blood was shed for me.
L. Pleading with God for mercy. P. M.
IGHTEOUS art thou, O God, yet let
me plead, Permit the vileft of the fallen race, To tell his fin, and bow his guilty head,
Before thy mercy-leat, thy throne of grace.
As numerous as the stars, or countless lands,
My faults, backslidings, and tranfgrellions
Yet look upon my Saviour's bleeding hands,
My pardon, Lord, my pardon's written there.
Bring not in judgment me, nor call to mind,
Nor in the balances my doings weigh : But let me refuge in my Saviour find,
And hide ine in him at the awful day!
I blush as I approach thee, and confess .
My wicked life, my shame, and nakedness:
I know a poorer finner than I am,
Yet vile and filthy as I am I come,
room,” Thro' all my guilt I make this pow'rful plea,
Our Saviour dy'd to ransom such as me.
This makes me hope, yet makes my shame in
crease, How could I grieve such love, or friend
like this? O cover all my sins in thy long vest,
I part confess, Lord cover all the rest.
LI. Distance from God. C. M.
THOU, whose tender mercy hears
Contrition's humble cry;
From sorrow's weeping eye:
See, low before thy throne of
grace, A wretched wand'rer mourn!
Thyself haft bid me seek thy face;
Thyself haft said, Return.
And shall my guilty fears prevail
To drive me froin thy feet? Thy word of promise cannot fail,
My tow'r of fafe retreat.
Absent from Thee, my guide, my light,
Without one cheering ray;
How defolate my way!
O shine on this benighted heart,
With beams of mercy fhine; ** And let thy Spirit's voice impart
A taste of joys divine.
LII. The Resolution. P. M.
AVIOUR, canft thou love a traitor?
Canft thou love a child of wrath? Can a hell-deserving creature
Be the purchase of thy death?
Is thy blood so efficacious,
As to make my nature clean? Is thy facrifice so precious,
As to free me from my fin?
Sin on ev'ry hand surrounds me,
No acquittance can I hear; Pangs of unbelief confound me,
Oh! my grief I cannot bear:
Here then is my resolution,
At thy deareft feet to fall; Here I'll meet with condemnation,
Or a freedom from my thralt.
Now deny thy grace and mercy,
If thou canft, to wretched me;
Juftly I deserve the same;
I will magnify thy name.