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37 O LORD, my God, in mercy turn,

In mercy hear a sinner mourn:
On Thee I call, to Thee I cry ;

In mercy hear me, lest I die.
2 O pleasures past, what are ye now?

Thorns planted round my bleeding brow;
For pleasure I have giv'n my soul,

And justice bids his thunder roll: 3 Yet, Jesus, to Thy cross I cling,

And crouch beneath Thy shelt'ring wing:
I clasp the cross, and mercy there
Presides, and justice learns to spare.

38 SHOW pity, Lord! O Lord, forgive;

Let a repenting rebel live!
Are not Thy mercies large and free?

May not a sinner trust in Thee ?
2 My crimes, though great, do not surpass

The power and glory of Thy grace :
O wash my soul from every sin,

And make my guilty conscience clean ! 3 My lips with shame my sins confess,

Against Thy law, against Thy grace:
Lord, should Thy judgment be severe,

I am condemn'd; but Thou art clear. 4 Yet save a trembling sinner, Lord,

Whose hope, still hov'ring round Thy word,
Would light on some sweet promise there,
Some sure support against despair !

39 LAMB of God, who Thee receive,

Who in Thee desire to live,
Day and night, they cry to Thee,

As thou art, so let us be !
2 Fix, O fix our wavering mind ;

To Thy cross our spirits bind;
Gladly now would we be clean;

Cleanse our hearts from every sin. 3 Dust and ashes though we be,

Full of guilt and misery,
Thine we are, Thou Son of God;
Take the purchase of Thy blood.

40 HEAR, gracious God, a sinner's cry,

For I have nowhere else to fly;
My only hope I cast on Thee;

O God, be merciful to me.
2 It was for sinners Jesus died,

I have no refuge, Lord, beside;
To his atoning blood I flee;

In Him be merciful to me.
3 Sinful indeed I am and weak,

Yet give me, Lord, the grace I seek,
And where Thou art O let me be ;

Saviour, be merciful to me.
4 To glory bring me, Lord, at last,

And there, when all my fears are past,
How loud shall this blest anthem be-
God has been merciful to me.

41 A So'er the past my mem'ry strays,

Oft heaves the secret sigh ;
I mourn the guilt of former days

Brought by conviction nigh.

2 The world, alas, too much belov'd,

My busy thoughts employ'd ;
And time unhallow'd, unimprov'd,

Presents a fearful void.

3 Yet, holy Father, wild despair

Chase from my lab'ring breast;
Thy grace it is which prompts the prayer;

grace can do the rest.

4 May life's brief remnant all be Thine;

And when thy firm decree
Bids me this fleeting life resign,

O speed my soul to Thee.

42 GREAT God, before Thy throne of grace

We wretched wand'rers mourn !
Hast Thou not bid us seek Thy face?

Hast Thou not said, “Return”?

2 O shine on each benighted heart,

With beams of mercy shine ;
And let Thy healing grace impart

A taste of joys divine !


43 FROM lowest depths of woe

To God I send my cry ;
Lord, hear my supplicating voice,

And graciously reply.
2 My soul with patience waits

For Thee, the living Lord;
My hopes are on Thy promise built,

Thy never failing word. 3 My longing eyes look out

For Thy enliv'ning ray,
More earnestly than those who wait

To catch the dawn of day. 4 Let Israel trust in God,

No bounds his mercy knows;
The plenteous source and spring from whence

Eternal succour flows.

44 MY soul lies cleaving to the dust :

Lord, give me life divine :
From vain desires and every lust
Turn off these


of mine!
2 I need the influence of Thy grace,

To speed me in Thy way,
Lest I should loiter in my race,

Or turn my feet astray.
3 Are not Thy mercies sov'reign still,

And Thou a faithful God?
Wilt Thou not grant me warmer zeal,

To run the heavenly road?

4 Then shall I love Thy Gospel more,

And ne'er forget Thy word,
When I have felt its quick’ning power

To draw me near the Lord. 45 WHEN all around is dark and drear,

No hand to help, no voice to cheer; When, of each human stay bereft,

Alone my trembling soul is left;
2 Whither, ah, whither shall

I flee,
Saviour of sinners, but to Thee?
My mournful cry Thou'lt not despise,

By suff'rings taught to sympathize.
3 O break the power of sin and hell,

The stern rebuke of conscience quell,
And, by Thy Spirit's quick’ning voice,

My pardon speak, and say, Rejoice.
4 Bright hour, when on a soul forlorn

Serenely beams the Gospel morn,
And all its terrors melt

Like clouds before the springing day!


JESUS, to Thy wounds I fly;

Purge my sins of deepest dye:
Lamb of God, for sinners slain,
Wash away my crimson stain,
Plunge me in the sacred flood,
In the fountain of Thy blood;
Then Thy Father's eye shall see
Not one spot of guilt in me.

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