XI

THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS

"I acknowledge one Baptism for the Remission of Sins."

CXLII

PSALM CIII

Y soul, repeat His praise

Με Whose mercies are so great,

Whose anger is so slow to rise,
So ready to abate.

High as the heavens are raised
Above the ground we tread,
So far the riches of His grace
Our highest thoughts exceed.

His power subdues our sins;
And His forgiving love,
Far as the east is from the west,
Doth all our guilt remove.

The pity of the Lord

To those that fear His Name,
Is such as tender parents feel;
He knows our feeble frame.

Our days are as the grass,
Or like the morning flower;

If one sharp blast sweep o'er the field,
It withers in an hour.

But Thy compassions, Lord,
To endless years endure,

And children's children ever find

Thy words of promise sure.

HERE is a fountain filled with blood

THERE is a fountain filled veins,

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, as vile as he,
Washed all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb! Thy precious Blood
Shall never lose its power,

Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song

I'll sing Thy power to save,

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue

Lies silent in the grave.

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,

Unworthy though I be,

For me a blood-bought free reward,

A golden harp for me:

'Tis strung, and tuned for endless years, And formed by power divine,

To sound in God the Father's ears

No other Name but Thine.

William Cowper. 1779

CXLIV

ESU, Thou art my Righteousness,

JES

For all my sins were Thine;

Thy death hath bought of God my peace,
Thy life hath made Him mine.

Spotless and just in Thee I am;
I feel my sins forgiven;
I taste salvation in Thy Name,
And antedate my heaven.

Forever here my rest shall be,
Close to Thy bleeding side;
This all my hope, and all my plea,
For me the Saviour died!

My dying Saviour and my God,
Fountain for guilt and sin,
Sprinkle me ever with Thy Blood,

And cleanse and keep me clean!

Wash me, and make me thus Thine own;
Wash me, and mine Thou art!

Wash me, but not my feet alone :
My hands, my head, my heart!

Th' atonement of Thy Blood apply,
Till faith to sight improve;

Till hope in full fruition die,
And all my soul be love.

Charles Wesley. 1740

But Thy compassions, Lord,
To endless years endure,

And children's children ever find

Thy words of promise sure.

HERE is a fountain filled with blood

Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;

And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, as vile as he,
Washed all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb! Thy precious Blood
Shall never lose its power,

Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.

E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song

I'll sing Thy power to save,

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue

Lies silent in the grave.

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared,

Unworthy though I be,

For me a blood-bought free reward,

A golden harp for me:

'Tis strung, and tuned for endless years, And formed by power divine,

To sound in God the Father's ears

No other Name but Thine.

William Cowper. 1779

J'

CXLIV

ESU, Thou art my Righteousness,

For all my sins were Thine;

Thy death hath bought of God my peace,
Thy life hath made Him mine.

Spotless and just in Thee I am;
I feel my sins forgiven;
I taste salvation in Thy Name,
And antedate my heaven.

Forever here my rest shall be,
Close to Thy bleeding side;
This all my hope, and all my plea,
For me the Saviour died!

My dying Saviour and my God,
Fountain for guilt and sin,
Sprinkle me ever with Thy Blood,

And cleanse and keep me clean!

Wash me, and make me thus Thine own;
Wash me, and mine Thou art!

Wash me, but not my feet alone :
My hands, my head, my heart!

Th' atonement of Thy Blood apply,
Till faith to sight improve;

Till hope in full fruition die,
And all my soul be love.

Charles Wesley. 1740