Psalm 41
v.1-8
L. M.
Charity to the poor; or, Pity to the afflicted.
Blest is the man whose bowels move,
And melt with pity to the poor;
Whose soul, by sympathizing love,
Feels what his fellow saints endure.
His heart contrives for their relief
More good than his own hands can do;
He, in the time of gen'ral grief,
Shall find the Lord has bowels too.
His soul shall live secure on earth,
With secret blessings on his head,
When drought, and pestilence, and dearth
Around him multiply their dead.
Or if he languish on his couch,
God will pronounce his sins forgiv'n;
Will save him with a healing touch,
Or take his willing soul to heav'n.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Related quotes
Psalm 35 part 2
v.12-14
C. M.
Love to enemies.
Behold the love, the gen'rous love,
That holy David shows;
Hark, how his sounding bowels move
To his afflicted foes!
When they are sick his soul complains,
And seems to feel the smart;
The spirit of the gospel reigns,
And melts his pious heart.
How did his flowing tears condole
As for a brother dead!
And fasting mortified his soul,
While for their life he prayed.
They groaned, and cursed him on their bed,
Yet still he pleads and mourns;
And double blessings on his head
The righteous God returns.
O glorious type of heav'nly grace!
Thus Christ the Lord appears;
While sinners curse, the Savior prays,
And pities them with tears.
He, the true David, Isr'el's King,
Blest and beloved of God,
To save us rebels, dead in sin,
Paid his own dearest blood.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Living Shadow
Sitting on a big chair
swinging round and round around a round table
bending to and fro luxuriously
having all the courage of life
and the riches of the earth
What amount will purchase a soul?
even strength enough won't be
A heart is heart when full of blood
A soul is a soul with harmony and charity
Can one tell the price of humanity?
yelling to and hurting the poor
is what the rich do?
Disturbing peace for the fulfillment of anger
and the need to be feared
An empty soul is as poor as dead
dead from the beginning of it's creation
even the rich and the poor meet in this
though under the sun
the distinction is done
What's the secret point of money and courage?
without peace, humanity and happiness?
the difference between love and strength?
What about the creator and faith?
Maybe the answers are within one's reach
or we are blinded from the truth
May the creator save our souls! !
poem by Nina Joseph
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Hymn 152
Sinai and Zion.
Heb. 12:18ff
Not to the terrors of the Lord,
The tempest, fire, and smoke;
Not to the thunder of that word
Which God on Sinai spoke;
But we are come to Zion's hill,
The city of our God,
Where milder words declare his will,
And spread his love abroad.
Behold th' innumerable host
Of angels clothed in light!
Behold the spirits of the just,
Whose faith is turned to sight!
Behold the blest assembly there
Whose names are writ in heav'n!
And God, the Judge of all, declares
Their vilest sins forgiv'n.
The saints on earth and all the dead
But one communion make;
All join in Christ their living Head,
And of his grace partake.
In such society as this
My weary soul would rest;
The man that dwells where Jesus is
Must be for ever blest.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 102
The Beatitudes.
Mt. 5:3-12.
[Blest are the humble souls that see
Their emptiness and poverty;
Treasures of grace to them are giv'n,
And crowns of joy laid up in heav'n.]
[Blest are the men of broken heart,
Who mourn for sin with inward smart
The blood of Christ divinely flows,
A healing balm for all their woes.]
[Blest are the meek, who stand afar
From rage and passion, noise and war;
God will secure their happy state,
And plead their cause against the great.]
[Blest are the souls that thirst for grace,
Hunger and long for righteousness;
They shall be well supplied, and fed
With living streams and living bread.]
[Blest are the men whose bowels move
And melt with sympathy and love;
From Christ the Lord shall they obtain
Like sympathy and love again.]
[Blest are the pure, whose hearts arc clean
From the defiling powers of sin;
With endless pleasure they shall see
A God of spotless purity.]
[Blest are the men of peaceful life,
Who quench the coals of growing strife;
They shall be called the heirs of bliss,
The sons of God, the God of peace.]
[Blest are the suff'rers who partake
Of pain and shame for Jesus' sake;
Their souls shall triumph in the Lord
Glory and joy are their reward.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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My Poor Old Heart
I've been a fool for love ever since
I was a baby just a rockin' in the cradle
As a rule I was the kind who
Laid his feelings right down on the table
Gave my world so many times
Just to see them tear it apart
Whoa, Lord, have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Chorus:
I wonder just how many times a broken heart can mend
Oh, when I get back on my feet Lord, I always fall again
Rubies, furs, lies, goodbyes they've all left some scars
Whoa, Lord, have a little bit of pity on my poor old heart.
Well, I ought to know by now
After of these dead and heartache lessons
I can go without going through hell
Trying to find a little heaven
Seems to me every woman I meet
Has leaving down to an art
Oh Lord, have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Chorus:
I wonder just how many times a broken heart can mend
Oh, when I get back on my feet Lord, I always fall again
Rubies, furs, lies, goodbyes they've all left some scars
Whoa, Lord, have a little bit of pity on my poor old heart.
Well, I said rubies, furs, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Whoa, Lord, have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I said Lord, have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart...
song performed by by Kenny Chesney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 34 part 1
God's care of the saints; or, Deliverance by prayer.
Lord, I will bless thee all my days,
Thy praise shall dwell upon my tongue
My soul shall glory in thy grace,
While saints rejoice to hear the song.
Come, magnify the Lord with me,
Come, let us all exalt his name;
I sought th' eternal God, and he
Has not exposed my hope to shame.
I told him all my secret grief,
My secret groaning reached his ears;
He gave my inward pains relief;
And calmed the tumult of my fears.
To him the poor lift up their eyes,
Their faces feel the heav'nly shine;
A beam of mercy from the skies
Fills them with light and joy divine.
His holy angels pitch their tents
Around the men that serve the Lord;
O fear and love him, all his saints,
Taste of his grace, and trust his word.
The wild young lions, pinched with pain
And hunger, roar through all the wood;
But none shall seek the Lord in vain,
Nor want supplies of real good.
poem by Isaac Watts
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My Poor Old Heart
I've been a fool for love
Ever since I was a baby
Just a rockin' in a cradle
As a rule I was the kind
That laid his feelings
Up front and on the table.
I gave up my world so many times
Just to see 'em tear it apart
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I wonder just how many times
A broken heart can mend
Just when I get back on my feet
Lord, I always fall again.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
--- Instrumental ---
I oughta know by now
After all this debt
And heartache lessons
I could go without
Going through hell
Just to find a little heaven.
Seems to me every woman I meet
Has leavin' down to an art
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
I wonder just how many times
A broken heart can mend
Just when I get back on my feet
Lord, I always fall again.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Bruises, burns, lies, goodbyes
They've all left some scars
Oh, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart.
Hey, Lord have a little bit of pity
On my poor old heart...
song performed by by Randy Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 107 part 2
Correction for sin, and release by prayer.
From age to age exalt his name;
God and his grace are still the same;
He fills the hungry soul with food,
And feeds the poor with every good.
But if their hearts rebel and rise
Against the God that rules the skies;
If they reject his heav'nly word,
And slight the counsels of the Lord
He'll bring their spirits to the ground,
And no deliv'rer shall be found;
Laden with grief, they waste their breath
In darkness and the shades of death.
Then to the Lord they raise their cries;
He makes the dawning light arise,
And scatters all that dismal shade
That hung so heavy round their head.
He cuts the bars of brass in two,
And lets the smiling pris'ners through;
Takes off the load of guilt and grief,
And gives the lab'ring soul relief.
O may the sons of men record
The wondrous goodness of the Lord
How great his works! how kind his ways!
Let every tongue pronounce his praise.
poem by Isaac Watts
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A Small Plot Of Land
Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
Hes less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer cant
Travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beggar
Encouraged by thy word
Of promise to the poor;
Behold, a beggar, Lord,
Waits at thy mercy's door!
No hand, no heart, O Lord, but thine,
Can help or pity wants like mine.
The beggar's usual plea
Relief from men to gain,
If offered unto thee,
I know thou would'st disdain:
And pleas which move thy gracious ear,
Are such as men would scorn to hear.
I have no right to say
That though I now am poor,
Yet once there was a day
When I possessed more:
Thou know'st that from my very birth,
I've been the poorest wretch on earth.
Nor can I dare profess,
As beggars often do,
Though great is my distress,
My wants have been but few:
If thou shouldst leave my soul to starve,
It would be what I well deserve.
'Twere folly to pretend
I never begged before;
Or if thou now befriend,
I'll trouble thee no more:
Thou often hast relieved my pain,
And often I must come again.
Though crumbs are much too good
For such a dog as I;
No less than children's food
My soul can satisfy:
O do not frown and bid me go,
I must have all thou canst bestow.
poem by John Newton
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Psalm XXXV: Now Plead My Cause, Almighty God
Now plead my cause, Almighty God,
With all the sons of strife;
And fight against the men of blood,
Who fight against my life.
Draw out thy spear and stop their way,
Lift thine avenging rod;
But to my soul in mercv say,
"I am thy Savior God!"
They plant their snares to catch my feet,
And nets of mischief spread;
Plunge the destroyers in the pit
That their own hands have made.
Let fogs and darkness hide their way,
And slipp'ry be their ground;
Thy wrath shall make their lives a prey,
And all their rage confound.
They fly like chaff before the wind,
Before thine angry breath;
The angel of the Lord behind
Pursues them down to death.
They love the road that leads to hell;
Then let the rebels die,
Whose malice is implacable
Against the Lord on high.
But if thou hast a chosen few
Amongst that impious race,
Divide them from the bloody crew,
By thy surprising grace.
Then will I raise my tuneful voice,
To make thy wonders known;
In their salvation I'll rejoice,
And bless thee for my own.
Behold the love, the gen'rous love,
That holy David shows;
Hark, how his sounding bowels move
To his afflicted foes !
When they are sick his soul complains,
And seems to feel the smart;
The spirit of the gospel reigns,
And melts his pious heart.
How did his flowing tears condole
As for a brother dead !
And fasting mortified his soul,
While for their life he prayed.
They groaned, and cursed him on their bed,
Yet still he pleads and mourns;
And double blessings on his head
The righteous God returns,
Glorious type of heav'nly grace !
Thus Christ the Lord appears;
While sinners curse, the Savior prays,
And pities them with tears.
He, the true David, Isr'el's King,
Blessed and beloved of God,
To save us rebels, dead in sin,
Paid his own dearest blood.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 46 part 2
The privileges of the living above the dead.
Isa. 38:18,19.
Awake, my zeal; awake, my love,
To serve my Savior here below,
In works which perfect saints above
And holy angels cannot do.
Awake, my charity, to feed
The hungry soul, and clothe the poor;
In heav'n are found no sons of need,
There all these duties are no more.
Subdue thy passions, O my soul!
Maintain the fight, thy work pursue,
Daily thy rising sins control,
And be thy vict'ries ever new.
The land of triumph lies on high,
There are no foes t' encounter there;
Lord, I would conquer till I die,
And finish all the glorious war.
Let every flying hour confess
I gain thy gospel fresh renown;
And when my life and labors cease,
May I possess the promised crown!
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn 35 part 1
Faith the way to salvation.
Rom. 1:16; Eph. 2:8,9.
Not by the laws of innocence
Can Adam's sons arrive at heav'n;
New works can give us no pretence
To have our ancient sins forgiv'n.
Not the best deeds that we have done
Can make a wounded conscience whole;
Faith is the grace, and faith alone,
That flies to Christ, and saves the soul.
Lord, I believe thy heav'nly word,
Fain would I have my soul renewed;
I mourn for sin, and trust the Lord
To have it pardoned and subdued.
O may thy grace its power display,
Let guilt and death no longer reign;
Save me in thine appointed way,
Nor let my humble faith be vain.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Of The Love Of Christ
The love of Christ, poor I! may touch upon;
But 'tis unsearchable. O! there is none
Its large dimensions can comprehend
Should they dilate thereon world without end.
When we had sinned, in his zeal he swore,
That he upon his back our sins would bear.
And since unto sin is entailed death,
He vowed for our sins he'd lose his breath.
He did not only say, vow, or resolve,
But to astonishment did so involve
Himself in man's distress and misery,
As for, and with him, both to live and die.
To his eternal fame in sacred story,
We find that he did lay aside his glory,
Stepped from the throne of highest dignity,
Became poor man, did in a manger lie;
Yea, was beholden unto his for bread,
Had, of his own, not where to lay his head;
Though rich, he did for us become thus poor,
That he might make us rich for evermore.
Nor was this but the least of what he did,
But the outside of what he suffered?
God made his blessed son under the law,
Under the curse, which, like the lion's paw,
Did rent and tear his soul for mankind's sin,
More than if we for it in hell had been.
His cries, his tears, and bloody agony,
The nature of his death doth testify.
Nor did he of constraint himself thus give,
For sin, to death, that man might with him live.
He did do what he did most willingly,
He sung, and gave God thanks, that he must die.
But do kings use to die for captive slaves?
Yet we were such when Jesus died to save's.
Yea, when he made himself a sacrifice,
It was that he might save his enemies.
And though he was provoked to retract
His blest resolves for such so good an act,
By the abusive carriages of those
That did both him, his love, and grace oppose;
Yet he, as unconcerned with such things,
Goes on, determines to make captives kings;
Yea, many of his murderers he takes
Into his favour, and them princes makes.
poem by John Bunyan
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Psalm 51 part 1
A penitent pleading for pardon.
Show pity, Lord, O Lord, forgive,
Let a repenting rebel live:
Are not thy mercies large and free?
May not a sinner trust in thee?
My crimes are great, but not surpass
The power and glory of thy grace:
Great God, thy nature hath no bound,
So let thy pard'ning love be found.
O wash my soul from every sin,
And make my guilty conscience clean;
Here on my heart the burden lies,
And past offences pain my eyes.
My lips with shame my sins confess
Against thy law, against thy grace:
Lord, should thy judgment grow severe,
I am condemned, but thou art clear.
Should sudden vengeance seize my breath,
I must pronounce thee just in death;
And if my soul were sent to hell,
Thy righteous law approves it well.
Yet save a trembling sinner, Lord,
Whose hope, still hov'ring round thy word,
Would light on some sweet promise there,
Some sure support against despair.
poem by Isaac Watts
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And so I dream...
I yearn to find that love that shall consume my very being,
When each time feels new just like the first,
To free the emotions that live deep within a dreamers heart,
To arouse those feelings with just a mere gaze,
To see into a soul without even trying,
I crave that touch that can melt me to the core,
To be released of all fear when control is lost,
To find that feeling of utter peace in your arms,
To know your touch without ever having felt it,
Yet I know that an eternity shall roll by,
Before I ever see into that part of my soul,
And while few shall know only some of me,
Only one shall know all... And so I dream...
Spread the love... The peace will follow...
poem by Cosmic Dreamer
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Hymn 138
Saints in the hands of Christ
Jn. 10:28,29.
Firm as the earth thy gospel stands,
My Lord, my hope, my trust;
If I am found in Jesus' hands,
My soul can ne'er be lost.
His honor is engaged to save
The meanest of his sheep;
All that his heav'nly Father gave
His hands securely keep.
Nor death nor hell shall e'er remove
His favorites from his breast;
In the dear bosom of his love
They must for ever rest.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Hymn XXVII: Saviour, the World's and Mine
Saviour, the world's and mine,
Was ever grief like thine!
Thou my pain, my curse hast took,
All my sins were laid on thee;
Help me, Lord; to thee I look,
Draw me, Saviour, after thee.
'Tis done! my God hath died;
My Love is crucified!
Break, this stony heart of mine;
Pour, mine eyes, a ceaseless flood;
Feel, my soul, the pangs divine;
Catch, my heart, the issuing blood!
When, O my God, shall I
For thee submit to die?
How the mighty debt repay?
Rival of thy passion prove?
Lead me in thyself, the Way;
Melt my hardness into love.
To love is all my wish,
I only live for this;
Grant me, Lord, my heart's desire,
There by faith for ever dwell;
This I always will require,
Thee, and only thee, to feel.
Thy power I pant to prove,
Rooted and fixed in love;
Strengthened by thy Spirit's might,
Wise to fathom things divine,
What the length, and breadth, and height,
What the depth of love like thine.
Ah! give me this to know,
With all thy saints below;
Swells my soul to compass thee,
Gasps in thee to live and move;
Filled with all the Deity,
All immersed and lost in love!
poem by Charles Wesley
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Hymn XXVII: Saviour, the World's and Mine
Saviour, the world's and mine,
Was ever grief like thine!
Thou my pain, my curse hast took,
All my sins were laid on thee;
Help me, Lord; to thee I look,
Draw me, Saviour, after thee.
'Tis done! my God hath died;
My Love is crucified!
Break, this stony heart of mine;
Pour, mine eyes, a ceaseless flood;
Feel, my soul, the pangs divine;
Catch, my heart, the issuing blood!
When, O my God, shall I
For thee submit to die?
How the mighty debt repay?
Rival of thy passion prove?
Lead me in thyself, the Way;
Melt my hardness into love.
To love is all my wish,
I only live for this;
Grant me, Lord, my heart's desire,
There by faith for ever dwell;
This I always will require,
Thee, and only thee, to feel.
Thy power I pant to prove,
Rooted and fixed in love;
Strengthened by thy Spirit's might,
Wise to fathom things divine,
What the length, and breadth, and height,
What the depth of love like thine.
Ah! give me this to know,
With all thy saints below;
Swells my soul to compass thee,
Gasps in thee to live and move;
Filled with all the Deity,
All immersed and lost in love!
poem by John Wesley
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A Soul's Prayer
Enflame my heart with love divine, O God;
Enkindle it with fountains of your grace;
Pour forth your wisdom in some way, O Lord;
Give me the heav'nly gaze and sheen of face!
This earthly life is good but bad as well;
It's ephemeral nature's clearly felt;
At times, the place becomes almost like hell;
My virtues, will-pow'r, faith and hope all melt!
Look down with favour Lord, upon this soul!
It writhes in pain and shame of sins galore;
Without your help, it can't improve its role;
Shower your grace and mercy ever more!
The crafty Tempter's always on the prowl;
I cannot keep alert all through my life;
My soul with sin soon brims, o'erflows its bowl;
My faith and hope seems lost in newer strife!
Hearken O Lord, to my pleas, cry, I pray!
Forsake me not for moment's time even;
My tongue turns dry by praying night and day;
I yearn to always keep on road to heav'n!
poem by John Celes
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