He who has help'd me hitherto,
Will help me all my journey through,
And give me daily cause to raise
New Ebenezers to his praise.
Though rough and thorny be the road,
It leads thee home, apace, to God;
Then count thy present trials small,
For heaven will make amends for all.
OW strange, that souls, whom Jesus With manna from above, Should grieve him by their evil deeds,
And sin against such love.
Behold a greater wonder still,
That he from whom they stray,
Should bear with their rebellious will,
And wash their sins away.
Lord, has not yet my stubborn heart
Exhausted all thy grace?
Kind and forgiving as thou art,
Can I behold thy face?
Can such a rebel be received
Into thy blest abode ?
Have not my sins too often grieved
The Spirit of my God?
Lord, in thy love I yet behold
An undiminish'd store;
A depth unmeasured and untold,
A sea without a shore.
Such love is suited to my case,
And equal to my need;
Lord, from the fulness of thy grace,
My hung'ring spirit feed.
HEN, gracious Lord, when shall it be
That I shall find my all in thée;
The fulness of thy promise prove,
The seal of thine eternal love?
Thee, only thee, I fain would find,
And cast the world and flesh behind;
Thou, only thou, to me be given
Of all thou hast in earth or heaven.
Ah! wherefore did I ever doubt?
Thou wilt in no wise cast me out;
A helpless soul that comes to thee,
With only sin and misery.
Lord, I am sick; my sickness cure:
I want; do thou enrich the poor:
Under thy mighty hand I stoop;
O lift the abject sinner up!
Lord, I am blind; be thou my sight:
Lord, I am weak; be thou my might:
A helper of the helpless be;
And let me find my all in thee.
ROM whence this fear and unbelief?
Hast thou, O Father, put to grief
Thy spotless Son for me?
And will the righteous Judge of men
Condemn me for that debt of sin,
Which, Lord, was charged on thee?
Complete atonement thou hast made,
And to the utmost farthing paid
Whate'er thy people owed:
How then can wrath on me take place,
If shelter'd in thy righteousness,
And sprinkled with thy blood?
Turn, then, my soul! unto thy rest;
The merits of thy Great High Priest
Speak peace and liberty;
Trust in his all-atoning blood,
Nor fear thy banishment from God,
Since Jesus died for thee!
URELY Christ thy griefs hath borne,
Weeping soul, no longer mourn;
View him bleeding on the tree,
Pouring out his life for thee;
There thy every sin he bore,
Weeping soul, lament no more.
All thy crimes on him were laid;
See, upon his blameless head
Wrath its utmost vengeance pours,
Due to my offence and yours;
Wounded in our stead he is,
Bruised for our iniquities.
Weary sinner, keep thine eyes
On the atoning sacrifice;
There the incarnate Deity,
Number'd with transgressors, see;
There, his Father's absence mourns,
Nail'd, and bruised, and crown'd with thorns.
See thy God his head bow down,
Hear the Man of Sorrows groan
For thy ransom there condemn'd,
Stripp'd, derided, and blasphemed;
Bleed the guiltless for th' unclean,
Made an offering for thy sin.
Cast thy guilty soul on him,
Find him mighty to redeem;
At his feet thy burden lay,
Look thy doubts and cares away;
Now by faith the Son embrace,
Plead his promise, trust his grace.
Lord, thy arm must be reveal'd,
Ere I can by faith be heal'd!
Since I scarce can look to thee,
Cast a gracious eye on me;
At thy feet myself I lay,
Shine, O shine, my fears away.
HE Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart, or no?
I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel:
If aught is felt, 'tis only pain
To find I cannot feel.
I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind
Averse from all that's good.
My best desires are faint and few:
I fain would strive for more;
But when I cry, "My strength renew,"
Seem weaker than before.
Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I, therefore, go where others go,
But find no comfort there.
O make this heart rejoice or ache,
Decide this doubt for me;
And, if it be not broken, break,
And heal it if it be.
HEN darkness long has veil'd my mind,
And smiling day once more appears,
Then, my Redeemer, then I find
The folly of my doubts and fears.
I chide my unbelieving heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act so base a part,
Or harbour one hard thought of thee.
O let me then at length be taught,
(What I am still so slow to learn),
That God is love and changes not,
Nor knows the shadow of a turn.
Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!—
But when my faith is sharply tried,
I find myself a learner yet,
Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.
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