4 These-and every secret fault,
Filled with grief and shame, we own:
Humbled at thy feet we lie,
Seeking pardon from thy throne!
5 God of mercy! God of grace!
Hear our sad, repentant songs,
Oh restore thy suppliant race,
Thou, to whom our praise belongs!
The Penitent surrendering.
1 LORD, thou hast won-at length I yield;
My heart, by mighty grace compelled,
Surrenders all to thee:
Against thy terrors long I strove,
But who can stand against thy love?—
Love conquers even me.
2 If thou hadst bid thy thunders roll,
And lightnings flash to blast my soul,
I still had stubborn been:
But mercy has my heart subdued,
A bleeding Saviour I have viewed,
And now, I hate my sin.
mf 3 Now, Lord, I would be thine alone;
Come, take possession of thine own,
For thou hast set me free;
Released from Satan's hard command,
See all my powers in waiting stand,
To be employed by thee.
Repentance in View of Christ's Compassion.
1 DID Christ o'er sinners weep,
And shall our cheeks be dry?
Let floods of penitential grief
Burst forth from every eye.
2 The Son of God in tears-
The wondering angels see!
Be thou astonished, Ŏ my soul!
He shed those tears-for thee.
3 He wept-that we might weep-
Each sin demands a tear;-
In heaven alone no sin is found,
And there's no weeping there.
1 DEAR Saviour! when my thoughts recall
The wonders of thy grace,
Low at thy feet, ashamed, I fall,
And hide this wretched face.
2 Shall love like thine be thus repaid?
Ah! vile, ungrateful heart !
By earth's low cares detained--betrayed
From Jesus to depart :-
3 From Jesus-who alone can give
True pleasure, peace, and rest:
When absent from my Lord, I live
Unsatisfied, unblest.
4 But he, for his own mercy's sake,
My wandering soul restores:
He bids the mourning heart partake
The pardon it implores.
5 Oh! while I breathe to thee, my Lord,
The humble, contrite sigh,
Confirm the kind, forgiving word,
With pity in thine eye!
6 Then shall the mourner at thy feet
Rejoice to seek thy face;
And, grateful, own low kind-how sweet
Is thy forgiving grace.
7s. Norwich. Pleyel's Hymn.
1 DEPTH of mercy!--can there be
Mercy still reserved for me!
Can my God his wrath forbear?
Me, the chief of sinners spare?
2 I have long withstood his grace;
Long provoked him to his face;
Would not hear his gracious calls;
Grieved him by a thousand falls.
3 Yet how great his mercies are!
Me he still delights to spare;
Cries-"How shall I give thee up?"
Lets the lifted thunder drop.
4 Jesus, answer from above:
Is not all thy nature love?
Wilt thou not the wrong forget ?—
Lo, I fall before thy feet.
5 Now incline me to repent!
Let me now my fall lament!
Deeply my revolt deplore !
Weep, believe, and sin no more.
284 Sins bewailed as causing the Death of Christ.
1 OH, if my soul was formed for wo,
How would I vent my sighs!
Repentance should like rivers flow
From both my streaming eyes.
2 "Twas for my sins my dearest Lord
Hung on the cursed tree,
And groaned away a dying life,
For thee, my soul, for thee.
3 Oh, how I hate those lusts of mine,
That crucified my Lord;
Those sins, that pierced and nailed his flesh
Fast to the fatal wood!
fl 4 Yes, my Redeemer-they shall die-
My heart has so decreed;
Nor will I spare the guilty things.
That made my Saviour bleed.
5 While with a melting, broken heart,
My murdered Lord I view-
I'll raise revenge against my sins,
And slay the murderers too.
Self-righteous Hopes renounced.
1 VAIN are the hopes the sons of men
On their own works have built;
Their hearts by nature all unclean,
And all their actions guilt.
2 Let Jew and Gentile stop their mouth
Without a murmuring word,
Let all the race of man confess
Their guilt before the Lord.
3 In vain we ask God's righteous law
To justify us now;
Since to convince, and to condemn
Is all the law can do.
mf 4 Jesus, how glorious is thy grace!—
When in thy name we trust,
Our faith receives a righteousness
That makes the sinner just.
Uxbridge. Alfreton
1 NO more, my God-I boast no more
Of all the duties I have done;
I quit the hopes I held before,
To trust the merits of thy Son.
2 Now, for the love I bear his name,
What was my gain, 1 count my loss;.
My former pride I call my shame,
And nail my glory to his cross.
3 Yes-and I must and will esteem
All things but loss for Jesus' sake;
Oh! may my soul be found in him,
And of his righteousness partake.
4 The best obedience of my hands
Dares not appear before thy throne;
But faith can answer thy demands,
By pleading what my Lord has done.
Spencer. Grafton.
1 PROSTRATE, dear Jesus, at thy feet,
A guilty rebel lies;
And upwards to thy mercy-seat
Presumes to lift his eyes.
2 If tears of sorrow would suffice
To pay the debt I owe,
Tears should from both my weeping eyes
In ceaseless torrents flow.
3 But no such sacrifice I plead
To expiate my guilt;
No tears, but those which thou hast shed-
No blood, but thou hast spilt.
4 I plead thy sorrows, dearest Lord;
Do thou my sins forgive:
Thy justice will approve the word,
That bids the sinner live.
1 FATHER of mercies-God of love!
Oh! hear a humble suppliant's cry;
Bend from thy lofty seat above,
Thy throne of glorious majesty:
Oh! deign to hear my mournful voice,
And bid my drooping heart rejoice.
2 I urge no merits of my own,
No worth, to claim thy gracious smile :
No-when I bow before thy throne-
Dare to converse with God awhile-
Thy name, blest Jesus, is my plea—
Dearest and sweetest name to me!
3 Father of mercies-God of love!
Then hear thy humble suppliant's cry;
Bend from thy lofty seat above,
Thy throne of glorious majesty:
One pardoning word can make me whole,
And soothe the anguish of my soul.
Alfreton. Uxbridge.
1 AWAKED from sin's delusive sleep,
My heavy guilt I feel, and weep:
Beneath a weight of woes oppressed,
I come to thee, my Lord, for rest.
2 Now, from thy throne of bliss above,
Shed down a look of heavenly love;
That balm shall sweeten all my pain,
And bid my soul rejoice again.
3 By thy divine, transforming power,
My ruined nature now restore;
And let my life and temper shine,
In blest resemblance, Lord, to thine.
1 LORD, I approach the mercy-seat,
Where thou dost answer prayer;
There humbly fall before thy feet,
For none can perish there.
2 Thy promise is my only plea;
With this I venture nigh;
Thou callest burdened souls to thee,
And such, O Lord, am I.
3 Bowed down beneath a load of sin,
By Satan sorely pressed,
By war without, and fear within,
I come to thee for rest.
mf 4 Be thou my shield and hiding-place;
That, sheltered near thy side,
I may my fierce accuser face,
And tell him-thou hast died.
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