Classic Poem

HYMN IX.

With humble boldness, trembling joy,
With hope and awful fear,
Lord , we thy majesty address,
And to thy seat draw near.

For thou, great judge of all the earth,
Now on a throne of grace,
Between the wond'ring cherubs wings
Reveal'st thy glorious face.

At thy right-hand behold thy son,
Who kindly intercedes:
His blood crys louder than our sins,
And for our pardon pleads.

Ah cruel sins, how odious now,
And how deform'd are they,
While in that crimson fountain we
Their monstrous hue survey!

These with black horror fill'd his mind,
Inrag'd his wounds with pain:
These rent with grief his lab'ring breast,
Exhausted every vein.

Tho these our crimes all testify
Our crying guilt aloud;
Lord , veil no more thy shining face
Within an angry cloud.

Let thy love's rays attract from us
A penitential dew;
And while our vileness we lament,
Thy pard'ning mercy shew:

Then tho our sins have numerous been
Like sands upon the shore;
Peace, like a river, flouds our souls,
And sins are seen no more.