4 Mercy, good Lord! mercy we seek : This is the total sum;
For mercy, Lord, is all our prayer :
Oh! let Thy mercy come!
LORD, when we bend before Thy throne,
And our confessions pour,
Teach us to feel the sins we own,
And shun what we deplore.
2 Our broken spirits, pitying see;
True penitence impart ;
Then let a brightening ray from Thee
Beam hope upon the heart.
3 When we disclose our wants in prayer,
May we our wills resign,
And not a thought our bosom share,
That is not wholly Thine.
4 May faith each weak petition fill,
And waft it to the skies;
And teach our hearts 'tis goodness still
That grants it, or denies!
THOU, that hear'st when sinners cry,
Though all my sins before Thee lie,
Behold them not with angry look,
But blot their memory from Thy book.
2 Create my nature pure within,
And form my soul averse to sin :
Let Thy good Spirit ne'er depart,
Nor hide Thy presence from my heart.
3 My soul lies humbled in the dust,
And owns Thy dreadful sentence just;
Look down, O Lord, with pitying eye,
And save the soul condemned to die.
4 Then will I teach the world Thy ways;
Sinners shall learn Thy sovereign grace;
I'll lead them to my Saviour's blood,
And they shall praise a pardoning God.
AVIOUR! when in dust to Thee
Low we bow the adoring knee,
When, repentant, to the skies
Scarce we lift our streaming eyes,
O by all Thy pain and woe
Suffered once for man below,
Bending from Thy throne on high,
Hear our solemn Litany!
2 By Thy helpless infant years,
By Thy life of want and tears,
By Thy fasting and distress
In the savage wilderness,
By the dread mysterious hour
Of the insulting tempter's power;
Turn, O turn a favouring eye,
Hear our solemn Litany!
3 By Thy deep expiring groan,
By the sad sepulchral stone,
By the vault whose dark abode
Held in vain the rising God!
Oh, from earth to heaven restored,
Mighty re-ascended Lord,
Listen, listen to the cry
Of our solemn Litany!
of Ages cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water and the blood,
From Thy riven side which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure,
Cleanse me from its guilt and power!
2 Not the labours of mine hands
Can fulfil Thy law's demands:
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears for ever flow,
All for sin could not atone ;—
Thou must save, and Thou alone.
3 Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy Cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress,
Helpless, look to Thee for grace;
Foul, I to the fountain fly;
Wash me, Saviour, or I die!
4 While I draw this fleeting breath,
When my eyelids close in death,
When I soar to worlds unknown,
See Thee on Thy judgment throne—
Rock of Ages! cleft for me,
-Let me hide myself in Thee!
WHEN I survey the wondrous Cross,
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.
2 Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the Cross of Christ my God:
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.
3 See! from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down!
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?
4 Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were an offering far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.
SAVIOUR, whose redeeming love
Delivered us from death,
Look down upon us from above,
And raise our drooping faith!
2 Whilst we remember Thou hast borne
Our sins upon the tree,
Teach us, with contrite hearts, to mourn
Our deep iniquity.
3 All we, like sheep, have gone astray,
Yet let Thy Cross prevail,
To turn the sinner from his way,
And all our woes to heal.
4 And when, in sorrow and distress,
To Thee we lift our eyes,
Saviour, be Thou our Righteousness,
Our perfect sacrifice!
JE sing the praise of Him who died,
Of Him who died upon the Cross;
The sinner's hope let men deride,
For this we count the world but loss.
2 Inscribed upon the Cross we sce,
In shining letters, God is love:
He bears our sins upon the tree,
He brings us mercy from above.
3 The Cross! it takes our guilt away;
It holds the fainting spirit up;
It cheers with hope the gloomy day,
And sweetens every bitter cup:
4 It makes the coward spirit brave,
And nerves the feeble arm for fight:
It takes its terror from the grave,
And gilds the bed of death with light:
5 The balm of life, the cure of woe,
The measure and the pledge of love,
The sinner's refuge here below,
The angels' theme in heaven above.
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