Humiliation and Praise

I

When the wounded spirit hears
The voice of Jesus blood,
How the message stops the tears
Which else in vain had flow’d!
Pardon, grace, and peace proclaim’d,
And the sinner call’d a child;
Then the stubborn heart is tamed,
Renewed and reconciled.

II

Oh! ’twas grace indeed to spare
And save a wretch like me!
Men or angels could not bear
What I have offer’d thee!
Were thy bolts at their command,
Hell ere now had been my place;
Thou alone couldst silent stand
And wait to show thy grace.

III

If, in one created mind,
The tenderness and love
Of thy saints on earth were join’d
With all the hosts above;
Still that love were weak and poor,
If compared, my Lord, with thine;
Far too scanty to endure
A heart so vile as mine.

IV

Wondrous mercy I have found,
But, ah, how faint my praise!
Must I be a cumber-ground,
Unfruitful all my days?
Do I in thy garden grow,
Yet produce thee only leaves?
Lord, forbid it should be so!
The thought my spirit grieves.

V

Heavy charges Satan brings
To fill me with distress;
Let me hide beneath thy wings,
And plead thy righteousness:
Lord, to thee for help I call;
’Tis thy promise bids me come;
Tell him thou hast paid for all,
And that shall strike him dumb.