THER of lights, from whom proceeds
Whate'er thy every creature needs,
Whose goodness, providently nigh,
Feeds the young ravens when they cry;
To thee I look; my heart prepare ;
Suggest, and hearken to my prayer.
2 Since by thy light myself I see
Naked, and poor, and void of thee,
Thine eyes must all my thoughts survey,
Preventing what my lips would say:
Thou seest my wants; for help they call;
And, ere I speak, thou know'st them all.
3 Fain would I know, as known by thee,
And feel the indigence I see;
Fain would I all my vileness own,
And deep beneath the burden groan;
Abhor the pride that lurks within,
Detest and loathe myself and sin.
4 Ah, give me, Lord, myself to feel;
My total misery reveal:
Ah, give me, Lord, I still would say,
A heart to mourn, a heart to pray:
My business this, my only care,—
My life, my every breath be prayer.
Christ, the good Physician.
JESUS, thy far-extended fame
My drooping soul exults to hear;
Thy Name, thy all-restoring Name,
Is music in a sinner's ear.
2 Sinners of old thou didst receive
With comfortable words, and kind;
Their sorrows cheer, their wants relieve,
Heal the diseased, and cure the blind.
3 And art thou not the Saviour still,
In every place and age the same?
Hast thou forgot thy gracious skill,
Or lost the virtue of thy name?
4 Faith in thy changeless name I have:
The good, the kind Physician, thou
Art able now our souls to save,
Art willing to restore them now.
The healing power of Christ.
HOUGH eighteen hundred years are past
Since Christ did in the flesh appear,
His tender mercies ever last,
And still his healing power is here.
2 Would he the body's health restore,
And not regard the sin-sick soul?
The sin-sick soul he loves much more,
And surely he will make it whole.
3 All my disease, my every sin,
To thee, O Jesus, I confess :
In pardon, Lord, my cure begin,
And perfect it in holiness.
4 That token of thine utmost good,
Now, Saviour, now, on me bestow;
And purge my conscience with thy blood,
And wash my nature white as snow.
Lord, help my unbelief.
Hussin, how deep it stains;
sad our state by nature is;
And Satan binds our captive souls
Fast in his slavish chains.
2 But there's a voice of sov'reign grace
Sounds from the sacred word:-
Ho! ye despairing sinners, come,
And trust a faithful Lord.
3 My soul obeys the gracious call,
And runs to this relief;
I would believe thy promise, Lord;
O help my unbelief!
4 To the blest fountain of thy blood,
Incarnate God, I fly;
Here let me wash my guilty soul
From crimes of deepest dye.
5 A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,
Into thine arms I fall;
Be thou my strength and righteousness,— My Jesus, and my all.
The Day-star from on high.
MY former hopes are fled;
My terror now begins:
I feel, alas! that I am dead
In trespasses and sins.
2 Ah, whither shall I fly?
I hear the thunder roar ;-
The law proclaims destruction nigh,
And vengeance at the door.
3 When I review my ways,
I dread impending doom:
But, hark! a friendly whisper says,-
Flee from the wrath to come.
4 With trembling hope, I see
A glimm'ring from afar;
A beam of day that shines for me,
To save me from despair.
5 Forerunner of the sun,
It marks the pilgrim's way; I'll gaze upon it while I run, And watch the rising day.
LORD, with a grieved and aching heart,
To thee I look, to thee I cry;
Supply my wants; thy grace impart :
O hear an humble prisoner's sigh!
2 On my sad heart the burden lies;
No human power can ease the load;
My num'rous sins against me rise,
And far remove me from my God.
3 Break, break, O Lord, these tyrant chains, And set the struggling captive free; Redeem'd from everlasting pains,
And bring me safe to heaven and thee.
Balm in Gilead, and a good Physician there.
Dewhere shall the sinner find a cure?
EEP are the wounds which sin has made;
In vain, alas! is nature's aid;
The work exceeds her utmost power.
2 But can no sov'reign balm be found,
And is no kind physician nigh,
To ease the pain, and heal the wound,
Ere life and hope forever fly?
3 There is a great Physician near;
Look up, O fainting soul, and live:
See, in his heavenly smiles, appear
Such help as nature cannot give.
4 See, in the Saviour's dying blood,
Life, health, and bliss, abundant flow;
And in that sacrificial flood
A balm for all thy grief and wo.
The voice that wakes the dead.
THOU Son of God, whose flaming eyes
Our inmost thoughts perceive,
Accept the grateful sacrifice
Which now to thee we give.
2 We bow before thy gracious throne,
And think ourselves sincere :
But show us, Lord, is every one
Thy real worshipper?
3 Is here a soul that knows thee not,
Nor feels his need of thee,-
A stranger to the blood which bought
His pardon on the tree?
4 Convince him now of unbelief;
His desp'rate state explain;
And fill his heart with sacred grief,
And penitential pain.
5 Speak, with that voice that wakes the dead, And bid the sleeper rise;
And bid his guilty conscience dread
The death that never dies.
The hammer of God's Word.
COME, O thou all victorious Lord,
Thy power to us make known;
Strike with the hammer of thy Word,
And break these hearts of stone.
2 O that we all might now begin
Our foolishness to mourn ;
And turn at once from every sin,
And to the Saviour turn.
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