Part 3 (1/2)

Strange Thou shouldst have looked on me-- Worthless, guilty: Who can count my debt to Thee, Lord, most holy?

If I reach thy heavenly seat, Songs unceasing Shall my raptured tongue repeat-- Thee adoring.

XX.

OUT OF THE DUST.

Lord, hear my cry and see my case, As hart for streams I pant for grace: Come, O my G.o.d, bear me above, To bathe my wounds in thy blest love.

Are there not myriads now in bliss, Whose cry on earth was often this?

Here in the dust how deep their groans, But now they sit on glorious thrones.

When shall I that glad hour behold, When sin shall quit its deadly hold; When I my Christ unveiled shall see, And pa.s.s through all my misery!

O that I could from sinning cease, And wait on Pisgah my release, Until I saw the dawn of day, And Jesus called his child away!

If Thou wilt not complete me now, Before my head in death I bow, In dreary Kedar walk with me; My life would languish losing Thee.

XXI.

ANTIc.i.p.aTION.

If I, the sin-benighted, At length attain the goal, O what will be the transport Of my enraptured soul: The triumph celebrating Of saving Mercy's power, Nor dread again to perish, Nor wander evermore!

XXII.

KISSING THE ROD.

Teach me Aaron's thoughtful silence When corrected by thy rod; Teach me Eli's acquiescence, Saying, ”Do thy will, my G.o.d:”

Teach me Job's confiding patience, Dreading words from pride that flow; For Thou, Lord, alone exaltest, And Thou only layest low.

XXIII.

SPEAKING UNTO G.o.d.

How shall I my case discover, Who can estimate my grief!

If a cloud thy presence darken, Nought can give my soul relief.

Through the clouds let my entreaty-- Let these sighs to Thee ascend, Till new light break o'er my spirit-- Till thy gracious ear attend.

All my groans, my sighs, and weeping, All my best resolves are vain, My most watchful thoughts avail not, Victory o'er sin to gain.

Lord, His name I plead who suffered For lost man thy holy frown: See the reed, the cross, the scourging; See the robe, the th.o.r.n.y crown!

Through the sole atoning merit Of the blood by Jesus shed, Scatter all the sin that hinders Heaven from s.h.i.+ning on my head.

Pardon all the great transgressions, Which I cannot count to Thee: Look for merits in my Saviour, Not, my righteous G.o.d, in me.