Belshazzar
Poor sinners! little do they think
With whom they have to do!
But stand securely on the brink
Of everlasting woe.
Belshazzar thus, profanely bold,
The Lord of hosts defied;
But vengeance soon his boasts controlled,
And humbled all his pride.
He saw a hand upon the wall
And trembled on his throne
Which wrote his sudden dreadful fall
In characters unknown.
Why should he tremble at the view
Of what he could not read?
Foreboding conscience quickly knew
His ruin was decreed.
See him o'erwhelmed with deep distress!
His eyes with anguish roll;
His looks, and loosened joints, express
The terrors of his soul.
His pomp and music, guests and wine,
No more delight afford;
O sinner, ere this case be thine,
Begin to seek the Lord.
The law like this hand-writing stands,
And speaks the wrath of God;
But Jesus answers its demands,
And cancels it with blood.
poem by John Newton
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Psalm 130
Pardoning grace.
Out of the deeps of long distress,
The borders of despair,
I sent my cries to seek thy grace,
My groans to move thine ear.
Great God, should thy severer eye,
And thine impartial hand,
Mark and revenge iniquity,
No mortal flesh could stand.
But there are pardons with my God
For crimes of high degree;
Thy Son has bought them with his blood,
To draw us near to thee.
[I wait for thy salvation, Lord,
With strong desires I wait;
My soul, invited by thy word,
Stands watching at thy gate.]
[Just as the guards that keep the night
Long for the morning skies,
Watch the first beams of breaking light,
And meet them with their eyes;
So waits my soul to see thy grace,
And, more intent than they,
Meets the first openings of thy face,
And finds a brighter day.]
[Then in the Lord let Isr'el trust,
Let Isr'el seek his face;
The Lord is good as well as just,
And plenteous is his grace.
There's full redemption at his throne
For sinners long enslaved;
The great Redeemer is his Son,
And Isr'el shall be saved.]
poem by Isaac Watts
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Peter Sinning And Repenting
When Peter boasted, soon he fell,
Yet was by grace restored;
His case should be regarded well
By all who fear the Lord.
A voice it has, and helping hand,
Backsliders to recall;
And cautions those who think they stand,
Lest suddenly they fall.
He said, Whatever others do,
With Jesus I'll abide;
Yet soon amidst a murd'rous crew
His suff'ring Lord denied.
He who had been so bold before,
Now trembled like a leaf;
Not only lied, but cursed and swore,
To gain the more belief.
While he blasphemed he heard the cock,
And Jesus looked in love;
At once, as if by lightning struck,
His tongue forbore to move.
Delivered thus from Satan's snare
He starts, as from a sleep;
His Saviour's look he could not bear,
But hasted forth to weep.
But sure the faithful cock had crowed
A hundred times in vain;
Had not the Lord that look bestowed,
The meaning to explain.
As I, like Peter, vows have made,
Yet acted Peter's part;
So conscience, like the cock, upbraids
My base, ungrateful heart.
Lord Jesus, hear a sinner's cry,
My broken peace renew;
And grant one pitying look, that I
May weep with Peter too.
poem by John Newton
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Desiring to Be Given up to God
That my heart was right with thee,
And lov'd thee with a perfect love!
O that my Lord would dwell in me,
And never from his seat remove!
Jesus, remove th' impending load,
And set my soul on fire for God!
Thou seest I dwell in awful night
Until thou in my heart appear;
Kindle the flame, O Lord, and light
Thine everlasting candle there:
Thy presence puts the shadows by;
If thou art gone, how dark am I!
Ah! Lord, how should thy servant see,
Unless thou give me seeing eyes?
Well may I fall, if out of thee;
If out of thee, how should I rise?
I wander, Lord, without thy aid,
And lose my way in midnight's shade.
Thy bright, unerring light afford,
A light that gives the sinner hope;
And from the house of bondage, Lord,
O bring the weary captive up,
Thine hand alone can set me free
And reach my pardon out to me.
O let my prayer acceptance find,
And bring the mighty blessing down;
With eye-salve, Lord, anoint the blind,
And seal me thine adopted son:
A fallen, helpless creature take,
And heir of thy salvation make.
poem by Augustus Montague Toplady
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I Am A Sinner
Friend, I’m a wicked sinner too, a fallen sinner, just like you,
But, I have been to Calvary, to the cleansing blood you see,
It is purely the Blood of Christ, which changed my sinful life,
Going to the cleansing flood, I was saved by Christ’s Blood.
Though I read the Truth before, I knew not Christ as my Lord,
Though religious I may have been, I was the victim of my sin,
Putting me at odds with God; inviting Judgment from His rod.
With no sin found in God at all, we’re alienated by Adam’s fall.
Worse than that all men must die, for the sin from Satan’s Lie.
But being a God of love, He sought man from Heaven above,
Not wanting anybody to perish, God sent One He did cherish,
God’s one and only Son Christ, this to grant all men New Life.
He came to earth with one plan; God’s salvation for sinful man,
God’s Judgment was the cost, to save a world of sinners lost.
For God’s price must be paid, and upon Him our sin God laid,
Making Him the perfect sacrifice, to pay the total of sin’s price.
I am still a sinner just like before, I accepted Christ as my Lord,
But the Blood of Jesus Christ, has given my life righteousness,
His Righteousness, not my own, to point sinners to the Throne,
So they can be forgiven too, by Him who died for me and you.
(Copyright ©06/2007)
Psalm 51 part 3
The backslider restored.
O Thou that hear'st when sinners cry,
Though all my crimes before thee lie,
Behold them not with angry look,
But blot their mem'ry from thy book.
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.
I cannot live without thy light
Cast out and banished from thy sight:
Thine holy joys, my God, restore,
And guard me that I fall no more.
Though I have grieved thy Spirit, Lord,
His help and comfort still afford;
And let a wretch come near thy throne,
To plead the merits of thy Son.
A broken heart, my God, my King,
Is all the sacrifice I bring;
The God of grace will ne'er despise
A broken heart for sacrifice.
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.
Then will I teach the world thy ways;
Sinners shall learn thy sovereign grace;
I'll lead them to my Savior's blood,
And they shall praise a pard'ning God.
O may thy love inspire my tongue!
Salvation shall be all my song;
And all my powers shall join to bless
The Lord, my strength and righteousness.
poem by Isaac Watts
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On One Stone Shall Be Seven Eyes
Jesus Christ, the Lord's anointed,
Who his blood for sinners spilt;
Is the Stone by God appointed,
And the church is on him built:
He delivers all who trust him from their guilt.
Many eyes at once are fixed
On a person so divine;
Love, with aweful justice mixed,
In his great redemption shine:
Mighty Jesus! give me leave to call thee mine.
By the Father's eye approved,
Lo, a voice is heard from heav'n,
Sinners, this is my Beloved,
For your ransom freely given:
All offences, for his sake, shall be forgiven.
Angels with their eyes pursued him,
When he left his glorious throne;
With astonishment they viewed him
Put the form of servant on:
Angels worshipped him who was on earth unknown.
Satan and his host amazed,
Saw this stone in Zion laid;
Jesus, though to death abased,
Bruised the subtle serpent's head:
When to save us, on the cross his blood he shed.
When a guilty sinner sees him,
While he looks his soul is healed;
Soon this sight from anguish frees him,
And imparts a pardon sealed:
May this Saviour be to all our hearts revealed!
With desire and admiration,
All his blood-bought flock behold;
Him who wrought out their salvation,
And enclosed them in his fold:
Yet their warmest love, and praises, are too cold.
By the eye of carnal reason
Many view him with disdain;
How will they abide the season
When he'll come with all his train:
To escape him then they'll wish, but wish in vain.
How their hearts will melt and tremble
When they hear his aweful voice;
But his saints he'll then assemble,
As his portion and his choice;
And receive them to his everlasting joys.
poem by John Newton
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Hymn 44
Hell; or, The vengeance of God.
With holy fear and humble song,
The dreadful God our souls adore;
Rev'rence and awe become the tongue
That speaks the terrors of his power.
Far in the deep where darkness dwells,
The land of horror and despair,
Justice has built a dismal hell,
And laid her stores of vengeance there.
[Eternal plagues, and heavy chains,
Tormenting racks, and fiery coals,
And darts t' inflict immortal pains,
Dyed in the blood of damned souls.]
[There Satan, the first sinner, lies,
And roars, and bites his iron bands;
In vain the rebel strives to rise,
Crushed with the weight of both thy hands.]
There guilty ghosts of Adam's race
Shriek out, and howl beneath thy rod
Once they could scorn a Savior's grace,
But they incensed a dreadful God.
Tremble, my soul, and kiss the Son;
Sinners, obey the Savior's call;
Else your damnation hastens on,
And hell gapes wide to wait your fall.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Ask What I Shall Give Thee (III)
Behold the throne of grace!
The promise calls me near;
There Jesus shows a smiling face,
And waits to answer prayer.
That rich atoning blood,
Which sprinkled round I see;
Provides for those who come to God,
An all-prevailing plea.
My soul ask what thou wilt,
Thou canst not be too bold;
Since his own blood for thee he spilt,
What else can he withhold.
Beyond thy utmost wants
His love and pow'r can bless;
To praying souls he always grants,
More than they can express.
Since 'tis the Lord's command,
My mouth I open wide;
Lord open thou thy bounteous hand,
That I may be supplied.
Thine image, Lord, bestow,
Thy presence and thy love;
I ask to serve thee here below,
And reign with thee above.
Teach me to live by faith,
Conform my will to thine;
Let me victorious be in death,
And then in glory shine.
If Thou these blessings give,
And wilt my portion be;
Cheerful the world's poor toys I leave,
To them who know not thee.
poem by John Newton
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When at Thy Footstool, Lord, I Bend
When at Thy footstool, Lord, I bend,
And plead with Thee for mercy there,
Think of the sinner’s dying Friend,
And for His sake receive my prayer.
O think not of my shame and guilt,
My thousand stains of deepest dye;
Think of the blood which Jesus spilt,
And let that blood my pardon buy.
Think, Lord, how I am still Thine own,
The trembling creature of Thy hand;
Think how my heart to sin is prone,
And what temptations round me stand.
O think upon Thy holy Word,
And every plighted promise there;
How prayer should evermore be heard,
And how Thy glory is to spare.
O think not of my doubts and fears,
My strivings with Thy grace divine;
Think upon Jesus’ woes and tears,
And let His merits stand for mine.
Thine eyes, Thine ear, they are not dull;
Thine arm can never shortened be;
Behold me here; my heart is full;
Behold, and spare, and succor me.
poem by Henry Francis Lyte
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Hymn 25
A vision of the Lamb.
Rev. 5:6-9.
All mortal vanities, begone,
Nor tempt my eyes, nor tire my ears;
Behold, amidst th' eternal throne,
A vision of the Lamb appears.
[Glory his fleecy robe adorns,
Marked with the bloody death he bore;
Seven are his eyes, and seven his horns,
To speak his wisdom and his power.
Lo! he receives a sealed book
From him that sits upon the throne;
Jesus, my Lord, prevails to look
On dark decrees and things unknown.]
All the assembling saints around
Fall worshipping before the Lamb,
And in new songs of gospel sound
Address their honors to his name.
[The Joy, the shout, the harmony,
Flies o'er the everlasting hills
"Worthy art thou alone," they cry,
To read the book, to loose the seals."]
Our voices join the heav'nly strain,
And with transporting pleasure sing,
"Worthy the Lamb that once was slain,
To be our Teacher and our King!"
His words of prophecy reveal
Eternal counsels, deep designs;
His grace and vengeance shall fulfil
The peaceful and the dreadful lines.
Thou hast redeemed our souls from hell
With thine invaluable blood;
And wretches that did once rebel
Are now made fav'rites of their God.
Worthy for ever is the Lord,
That died for treasons not his own,
By every tongue to be adored,
And dwell upon his Father's throne!
poem by Isaac Watts
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Zaccheus
Zaccheus climbed the tree,
And thought himself unknown;
But how surprised was he
When Jesus called him down!
The Lord beheld him, though concealed,
And by a word his pow'r revealed.
Wonder and joy at once
Were painted in his face;
Does he my name pronounce?
And does he know my case?
Will Jesus deign with me to dine?
Lord, I, with all I have, am thine!
Thus where the gospel's preached,
And sinners come to hear;
The hearts of some are reached
Before they are aware:
The word directly speaks to them,
And seems to point them out by name.
'Tis curiosity
Oft brings them in the way,
Only the man to see,
And hear what he can say;
But how the sinner starts to find
The preacher knows his inmost mind.
His long forgotten faults
Are brought again in view,
And all his secret thoughts
Revealed in public too:
Though compassed with a crowd about,
The searching word has found him out.
While thus distressing pain
And sorrow fills his heart,
He hears a voice again,
That bids his fears depart:
Then like Zaccheus he is blest,
And Jesus deigns to be his guest.
poem by John Newton
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Psalm 73
v.22,3,6,17-20
L. M.
The prosperity of sinners cursed.
Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I,
To mourn, and murmur, and repine,
To see the wicked placed on high,
In pride and robes of honor shine!
But O their end, their dreadful end!
Thy sanctuary taught me so;
On slipp'ry rocks I see them stand,
And fiery billows roll below.
Now let them boast how tall they rise,
I'll never envy them again;
There they may stand with haughty eyes,
Till they plunge deep in endless pain.
Their fancied joys, how fast they flee!
Just like a dream when man awakes;
Their songs of softest harmony
Are but a preface to their plagues.
Now I esteem their mirth and wine
Too dear to purchase with my blood;
Lord, 'tis enough that thou art mine,
My life, my portion, and my God.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Why Me
Why me Lord what have I ever done
to deserve even one of the pleasures I've known
Tell me, Lord, what did I ever do
that was worth lovin' you or the kindness you've shown
Lord help me, Jesus, I've wasted it so
help me Jesus I know what I am
but now that I know that I've needed you so
help me, Jesus, my soul's in your hand
Try me, Lord, if you think there's a way
I can try to repay all I've taken from you
maybe Lord I can show someone else
what I've been through myself, on my way back to you
Lord help me, Jesus, I've wasted it so
help me Jesus I know what I am
but now that I know that I've needed you so
help me, Jesus, my soul's in your hand
Lord help me, Jesus, I've wasted it so
help me Jesus I know what I am
but now that I know that I've needed you so
help me Jesus my souls in your hand
Jesus, my soul's in your hand
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Show Me Yours (And I'll Show You Mine)
Why me Lord what have I ever done
to deserve even one of the pleasures I've known
Tell me, Lord, what did I ever do
that was worth lovin' you or the kindness you've shown
Lord help me, Jesus, I've wasted it so
help me Jesus I know what I am
but now that I know that I've needed you so
help me, Jesus, my soul's in your hand
Try me, Lord, if you think there's a way
I can try to repay all I've taken from you
maybe Lord I can show someone else
what I've been through myself, on my way back to you
Lord help me, Jesus, I've wasted it so
help me Jesus I know what I am
but now that I know that I've needed you so
help me, Jesus, my soul's in your hand
Lord help me, Jesus, I've wasted it so
help me Jesus I know what I am
but now that I know that I've needed you so
help me Jesus my souls in your hand
Jesus, my soul's in your hand.
song performed by by Kris Kristofferson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Psalm 143
Will I ever see the morning?
Will this darkness give me rest?
It has both its hands around my throat
My soul's in deep distress
And I think of how it used to be
From this dry and dusty land
My soul was watered in the fountains of joy
How you led me by the hand
And in distress my soul cries out
Will you hide your face from me?
I'll die before the morning light
If you don't come and set me free
You are my song my strong high tower
It's unto you I run
Come seek me out, Lord hear my shout
If you don't then I am surely done
Revive me Lord for your name sake
Come set my soul on fire
Take me up from out this hellish pit
Come Lord and raise me up a little higher
That I may fly into they arms
And join that heavenly throng
That dwell before and round about
Your throne with joyous songs
poem by Frank McEleny
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Negro Spirituals
IN DAT GREAT GITTIN’-UP MORNIN’
I ’M a gwine to tell you bout de comin’ ob de Saviour,—
Fare you well, Fare you well,
Dere ’s a better day a-comin’,
When my Lord speaks to his Fader,
Says, Fader, I ’m tired o’ bearin’,
Tired o’ bearin’ for poor sinners:
O preachers, fold your Bibles;
Prayer-makers, pray no more,
For de last soul’s converted.
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’,
Fare you well, Fare you well.
De Lord spoke to Gabriel:
Say, go look behind de altar,
Take down de silver trumpet,
Go down to de sea-side,
Place one foot on de dry land,
Place de oder on de sea,
Raise your hand to heaven,
Declare by your Maker,
Dat time shall be no longer,
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’, etc.
Blow your trumpet, Gabriel.
Lord, how loud shall I blow it?
Blow it right calm and easy,
Do not alarm my people,
Tell dem to come to judgment,
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’, etc.
Gabriel, blow your trumpet.
Lord, how loud shall I blow it?
Loud as seven peals of thunder,
Wake de sleepin’ nations.
Den you see poor sinner risin’,
See de dry bones a creepin’,
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’, etc.
Den you see de world on fire,
You see de moon a bleedin’,
See de stars a fallin’,
See de elements meltin’,
See de forked lightnin’,
Hear de rumblin’ thunder.
Earth shall reel and totter,
Hell shall be uncapped,
De dragon shall be loosened.
Fare you well, poor sinner.
In dat great gittin’-up Mornin’,
Fare you well, Fare you well.
STARS BEGIN TO FALL
I TINK I hear my brudder say,
Call de nation great and small;
I lookee on de God’s right hand
When de stars begin to fall.
Oh, what a mournin’, sister,—
Oh, what a mournin’, brudder,—
Oh, what a mournin’,
When de stars begin to fall!
ROLL, JORDAN, ROLL
MY brudder sittin’ on de tree of life
An’ he yearde when Jordan roll.
Roll, Jordan,
Roll, Jordan,
Roll, Jordan, roll!
O march de angel march;
O my soul arise in Heaven, Lord,
For to yearde when Jordan roll.
Little chil’en, learn to fear de Lord,
And let your days be long.
Roll, Jordan, etc.
O let no false nor spiteful word
Be found upon your tongue.
Roll, Jordan, etc.
SWING LOW, SWEET CHARIOT
OH de good ole chariot swing so low,—
I don’t want to leave me behind.
O swing low, sweet chariot,
Swing low, sweet chariot,
I don’t want to leave me behind.
Oh, de good ole chariot will take us all home,—
I don’t want to leave me behind.
Swing low, sweet chariot, etc.
BRIGHT SPARKLES IN DE CHURCHYARD
MAY de Lord—He will be glad of me—
In de heaven He ’ll rejoice.
In de heaven, once,
In de heaven, twice,
In de heaven He ’ll rejoice.
Bright sparkles in de churchyard
Give light unto de tomb;
Bright summer, spring’s over,
Sweet flowers in der bloom.
My mother, once,
My mother, twice,
My mother she ’ll rejoice.
In de heaven once, etc.
Mother, rock me in de cradle all de day;—
All de day, etc.
Oh, mother, don’t yer love yer darlin’ child?
Oh, rock me in de cradle all de day.
Rock me, etc.
You may lay me down to sleep, my mother dear,
Oh, rock me in de cradle all de day.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Psalm LXXIII: Now I'm Convinced the Lord Is Kind
Now I 'm convinced the Lord is kind
To men of heart sincere;
Yet once my foolish thoughts repined,
And bordered on despair.
I grieved to see the wicked thrive,
And spoke with angry breath,
"How pleasant and profane they live !
How peaceful is their death !
"With well-fed flesh and haughty eyes,
They lay their fears to sleep;
Against the heav'ns their slanders rise,
While saints in silence weep.
"In vain I lift my hands to pray,
And cleanse my heart in vain;
For I am chastened all the day,
The night renews my pain."
Yet while my tongue indulged complaints,
I felt my heart reprove,
"Sure I shall thus offend thy saints,
And grieve the men I love."
But still I found my doubts too hard,
The conflict too severe,
Till I retired to search thy word,
And learn thy secrets there.
There, as in some prophetic glass,
I saw the sinner's feet
High mounted on a slipp'ry place,
Beside a fiery pit.
I heard the wretch profanely boast,
Till at thy frown he fell;
His honors in a dream were lost,
And he awakes in hell.
Lord, what an envious fool I was!
How like a thoughtless beast
Thus to suspect thy promised grace,
And think the wicked blessed.
Yet I was kept from full despair,
Upheld by power unknown;
That blessed hand that broke the snare
Shall guide me to thy throne.
God, my supporter and my hope,
My help for ever near,
Thine arm of mercy held me up,
When sinking in despair.
Thy counsels, Lord, shall guide my feet
Through this dark wilderness;
Thine hand conduct me near thy seat,
To dwell before thy face.
Were I in heav'n without my God,
'twould be no joy to me;
And whilst this earth is my abode,
I long for none but thee.
What if the springs of life were broke,
And flesh and heart should faint?
God is my soul's eternal rock,
The strength of ev'ry saint.
Behold, the sinners that remove
Far from thy presence die;
Not all the idol gods they love
Can save them when they cry.
But to draw near to thee, my God,
Shall be my sweet employ;
My tongue shall sound thy works abroad,
And tell the world my joy.
Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I,
To mourn, and murmur, and repine,
To see the wicked placed on high,
In pride and robes of' honour shine!
But O their end, their dreadful end!
Thy sanctuary taught me so;
On slipp'ry rocks I see them stand,
And fiery billows roll below.
Now let them boast how tall they rise,
I'll never envy them again;
There they may stand with haughty eyes,
Till they plunge deep in endless pain.
Their fancied joys, how fast they flee!
Just like a dream when man awakes;
Their songs of softest harmony
Are but a preface to their plagues.
Now I esteem their mirth and wine
Too dear to purchase with my blood;
Lord, 'tis enough that thou art mine,
My life, my portion, and my God.
Sure there's a righteous God,
Nor is religion vain;
Though men of vice may boast aloud,
And men of grace complain.
I saw the wicked rise,
And felt my heart repine,
While haughty fools with scornful eyes
In robes of' honor shine.
Pampered with wanton ease,
Their flesh looks full and fair;
Their wealth rolls in like flowing seas,
And grows without their care.
Free from the plagues and pains
That pious souls endure;
Through all their life oppression reigns,
And racks the humble poor.
Their impious tongues blaspheme
The everlasting God;
Their malice blasts the good man's name,
And spreads their lies abroad.
But I with flowing tears
Indulged my doubts to rise;
"Is there a God that sees or hears
The things below the skies?"
The tumults of my thought
Held me in hard suspense,
Till to thy house my feet were brought,
To learn thy justice thence.
Thy word with light and power
Did my mistake amend;
I viewed the sinners' life before,
But here I learned their end.
On what a slippery steep
The thoughtless wretches go;
And O that dreadful fiery deep
That waits their fall below!
Lord, at thy feet I bow,
My thoughts no more repine;
I call my God my portion now,
And all my powers are thine.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Vision of Belshazzar
I
The King was on his throne,
The Satraps throng'd the hall;
A thousand bright lamps shone
O'er that high festival.
A thousand cups of gold,
In Judah deem'd divine—
Jehovah's vessels hold
The godless Heathen's wine!
In that same hour and hall,
The fingers of a hand
Came forth against the wall,
And wrote as if on sand:
The fingers of a man;—
A solitary hand
Along the letters ran,
And traced them like a wand.
II
The monarch saw, and shook,
And bade no more rejoice;
All bloodless wax'd his look,
And tremulous his voice.
"Let the men of lore appear,
The wisest of the earth,
And expound the words of fear
Which mar our royal mirth."
Chaldea's seers are good,
But here they have no skill;
And the unknown letters stood
Untold and awful still.
And Babel's men of age
Are wise and deep in lore;
But now they were not sage,
They saw—but knew no more.
III
A captive in the land,
A stranger and a youth,
He heard the king's command,
He saw that writing's truth.
The lamps around were bright,
The prophecy in view;
He read it on that night,—
The morrow proved it true.
"Belshazzar's grave is made,
His kingdom pass'd away,
He, in the balance weighed,
Is light and worthless clay.
The shroud, his robe of state,
His canopy the stone;
The Mede is at his gate!
The Persian on his throne!"
poem by Byron (1815)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Psalm 37 part 2
v.16,21,26-31
C. M.
Charity to the poor.
Why do the wealthy wicked boast,
And grow profanely bold?
The meanest portion of the just
Excels the sinner's gold.
The wicked borrows of his friends,
But ne'er designs to pay;
The saint is merciful and lends,
Nor turns the poor away.
His alms with lib'ral heart he gives
Amongst the sons of need;
His mem'ry to long ages lives,
And blessed is his seed.
His lips abhor to talk profane,
To slander or defraud;
His ready tongue declares to men
What he has learned of God.
The law and gospel of the Lord
Deep in his heart abide;
Led by the Spirit and the word,
His feet shall never slide.
When sinners fall, the righteous stand,
Preserved from every snare;
They shall possess the promised land,
And dwell for ever there.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hymn 150
The offices of Christ. From several scriptures.
Join all the glorious names
Of wisdom, love, and power,
That ever mortals knew,
That angels ever bore:
All are too mean to speak his worth,
Too mean to set my Savior forth.
But O what gentle terms,
What condescending ways,
Doth our Redeemer use
To teach his heav'nly grace!
Mine eyes with joy and wonder see
What forms of love he bears for me.
[Arrayed in mortal flesh,
He like an angel stands,
And holds the promises
And pardons in his hands;
Commissioned from his Father's throne
To make his grace to mortals known.]
[Great Prophet of my God,
My tongue would bless thy name;
By thee the joyful news
Of our salvation came:
The joyful news of sins forgiv'n,
Of hell subdued, and peace with heav'n.]
[Be thou my Counsellor,
My Pattern, and my Guide;
And through this desert land
Still keep me near thy side:
O let my feet ne'er run astray,
Nor rove, nor seek the crooked way.]
[I love my Shepherd's voice,
His watchful eyes shall keep
My wand'ring soul among
The thousands of his sheep:
He feeds his flock, he calls their names,
His bosom bears the tender lambs.]
[To this dear Surety's hand
Will I commit my cause;
He answers and fulfils
His Father's broken laws:
Behold my soul at freedom set!
My Surety paid the dreadful debt.]
[Jesus, my great High Priest,
Offered his blood, and died;
My guilty conscience seeks
No sacrifice beside:
His powerful blood did once atone,
And now it pleads before the throne.]
[My Advocate appears
For my defence on high;
The Father bows his ears,
And lays his thunder by:
Not all that hell or sin can say
Shall turn his heart, his love away.]
[My dear Almighty Lord,
My Conqueror and my King!
Thy sceptre and thy sword,
Thy reigning grace I sing:
Thine is the power; behold, I sit
In willing bonds before thy feet.]
[Now let my soul arise,
And tread the tempter down;
My Captain leads me forth
To conquest and a crown:
A feeble saint shall win the day,
Though death and hell obstruct the way.]
Should all the hosts of death,
And powers of hell unknown,
Put their most dreadful forms
Of rage and mischief on,
I shall be safe, for Christ displays
Superior power, and guardian grace.
poem by Isaac Watts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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