If in my Father's love Send down Thy Spirit, like a dove, I would no longer lie A slave beneath the throne; My faith shall Abba! Father! cry, And Thou the kindred own. WHO SHALL DELIVER ME FROM THE BODY OF THIS DEATH!" How sad our state by nature is! But there's a voice of sovereign grace O ye despairing sinners, come, My soul obeys th' almighty call, I would believe thy promise, Lord, To the rich fountain of thy blood, Here let me wash my spotted soul A guilty, weak, and helpless worm, In Thy kind arms I fall: Be Thou my strength and righteousness, My Jesus, and my all. |