Classic Poem

HYMN X.

I N grateful hymns, ye saints, display
J EHOVAH'S grace and boundless love;
A love, whose flame inspires the songs
Of all the heav'nly host above.

Tho we on earth can't sing like them,
Let's praise him in a lower strain:
A servent mind, that breathes his praise
With stammering lips, he'll not disdain,

Eternal Father, we adore
Thy love, that mov'd thee to expose
The sacred body of thy son
To bear the wounds due to thy foes.

And thee, dear Saviour, we adore,
Who didst endure th' invenom'd sting
Of death, and every dreadful curse
Justice provok'd by sin could bring.

While we behold thee on thy cross,
In every wound thy love appears,
Dearer than life, more strong than death,
Flowing in streams of blood and tears.

To bathe our souls defil'd by sin,
Lord , we approach this sacred flood:
To heal our broken hearts, we seek
The sovereign balsam of thy blood.

'Tis from this living stream our souls,
Our dying souls new life derive:
This is the sacred oil of joy,
That can desponding minds revive.

O king of glory, on us shine,
Who thy own table now surround:
Let not our sins eclipse thy face,
Since thou hast such a ransom found.