10 Or if I ask I know not what,
The knowledge of a future grace;
If this can only then be wrought,
When pure in heart I see Thy face,
O pierce, and fill me now with fear
Of sin, and hell, for ever near.
II O put Thy fear within my heart,
That I may tremble at Thy word,
Nor ever from Thy paths depart,
Or dare to sin against the Lord;
Till I the promised Seed receive,
Let Ishmael before Thee live.
12 I ask according to Thy will;
O keep me till the grace is given,
Till I Thy holy law fulfil
On earth, as angels do in heaven,
Thine uttermost salvation prove,
Made perfect in almighty love.
I BREAK, stubborn heart; and sigh no more
To mock me with a show of good,
To make me think the conflict o'er,
The strength of inbred sin subdued :
Or let me cease from every ill,
Or bear the nether mill-stone still.
2 Away my flattering hopes and fears,
The transports of my short-lived grief;
Away my unavailing tears,
Nor mock me with your vain relief!
Dissembling tears, 'tis past your art
To melt the marble of my heart.
3 My heart, which now to God aspires,
The following moment cleaves to dust;
My firm resolves, my good desires,
My holy frames—no more I trust,
Poor, feeble, broken reeds, to you;
My goodness melts as morning dew.
4 Hardly convinced, I own at last
No will to good abides in me;
My latest rag away I cast,
The rag of my sincerity:
I bear my double sin, and shame;
Beast, beast, and legion is my name.
5 Full of concupiscence and pride,
Fit fuel for eternal fire,
With virtuous show I strive to hide
The baseness of impure desire ;
Conceal'd it lies, yet not supprest:
The devil blushes for the beast.
6 I start from the contempt of men,
But shameless in His sight appear
By whom my every thought is seen;
My heart is harden'd from His fear,
Nor care I from His view to hide
My foulest filthiness of pride.
7 O what a loathsome hypocrite
Am I! A child of wrath and sin,
An heir of hell, a son of night,
An outward saint, a fiend within,
A painted tomb, a whited wall,
A worm, a sinner stript of all!
8 Lay to Thine hand, O God of grace;
O God, the work is worthy Thee;
See at Thy feet of all our race
The chief, the vilest sinner see,
And let me all Thy mercy prove,
Thine utmost miracle of love.
9 Speak; and an holy thing and clean
Shall strangely be brought out of me;
My Ethiop soul shall change her skin;
Redeem'd from all iniquity,
I, even I, shall then proclaim
The wonders wrought by Jesu's name.
Io Thee I shall then for ever praise,
In spirit and in truth adore,
While all I am declares Thy grace,
And, born of God, I sin no more;
The pure and heavenly nature share,
And fruit unto perfection bear.
I SAVIOUR from sin, I wait to prove
That Jesus is Thy healing name,
To lose, when perfected in love,
Whate'er I have, or can, or am;
I stay me on Thy faithful word,
The servant shall be as his Lord.
2 Answer that gracious end in me
For which Thy precious life was given; Redeem from all iniquity,
Restore, and make me meet for heaven;
Unless Thou purge my every stain,
Thy suffering, and my faith, is vain.
3 'Tis not a bare release from sin,
Its guilt and pain, my soul requires; I want a Spirit of power within;
Thee, Jesus, Thee my heart desires, And pants, and breaks to be renew'd, And wash'd in Thine all-cleansing blood. 4 Didst Thou not in the flesh appear,
Sin to condemn, and man to save?
That perfect love might cast out fear,
That I Thy mind in me might have,
In holiness show forth Thy praise,
And serve Thee all my sinless days?
5 Didst Thou not die, that I might live
No longer to myself, but Thee?
Might body, soul, and spirit give
To Him who gave Himself for me? Come, then, my Master and my God, Take the dear purchase of Thy blood.
6 Thine own peculiar servant claim,
For thine own truth and mercy's sake;
Hallow in me Thy glorious name,
Me for Thine own this moment take,
And change, and throughly purify:
Thine only may I live, and die.
"We have not an High Priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities," &c.
I O COMPASSIONATE High-Priest,
Full of truth and grace for me,
Mark the heavings of my breast,
See my sin and misery!
Surely all to Thee is known,
Though Thou dost not yet appear;
Noted is my every groan,
Counted is my every tear.
2 I have not a priest unmoved
With the feeling of my woe,
Who himself was never proved,
Who my sufferings cannot know:
Touch'd most sensibly Thou art
With my soul's infirmities,
Still the Saviour's gentle heart
Doth with sinners sympathise.
3 Though He now triumphant reigns,
Still, as in His days of flesh,
All His agonies and pains
In our souls He feels afresh :
Though exalted to a throne,
Thou dost in our sorrows share,
Thou hast not forgot Thine own,
Thine own flesh and blood we are.
4 Friend of Sinners, in Thy heart,
Tell me, doth there not remain
One unarm'd and tender part,
Sensible of human pain?
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