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THE PENITENT.

CLXXXVII. L. M. Beddome.
The humble Publican. Luke xviii. 13.
ORD, with a griev'd and aching heart,
To thee I look-to thee I cry;
Supply my wants, and ease my smart,
O help me soon, or else I die.

L

2 Here on my soul a burden lies,
No human power can it remove;
My numerous sins like mountains rise,
Do thou reveal thy pardoning love.
3 Break off these adamantine chains,
From cruel bondage set me free;
Rescue from everlasting pains,
And bring me safe to heaven and thee.

CLXXXVIII. C. M. Rippon's Selec.
Humble pleading for Mercy.
1 ORD, at thy feet we sinners lie,
And knock at mercy's door;
With heavy heart and downcast eye,
Thy favour we implore.

2 [On us, the vast extent display
Of thy forgiving love;

Take all our heinous guilt away,
This heavy load remove.

3 We sink, with all this weight oppress',
Sink down to death and hell;
O, give our troubled spirits rest,
Our numerous fears dispel.]

4 'Tis mercy, mercy we implore,
O may thy bowels move!
Thy grace is an exhaustless store,
And thou thyself art love.

5 0, for thy own, for Jesus' sake,
Our many sins forgive;

Thy grace our rocky hearts can break,
And breaking soon relieve.

6 Thus melt us down, thus make us bend
And thy dominion own;

Nor let a rival more pretend
To repossess thy throne.

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P

CLXXXIX. C. M. Charmouth tune.

S. Stennett.

The Penitent.

ROSTRATE, dear Jesus, at thy feet
A guilty rebel lies;

And upwards to the mercy seat

Presumes to lift his eyes.

2 O let not justice frown me hence:
Stay, stay the vengeful storm:
Forbid it that omnipotence
Should crush a feeble worm.

3 If tears of sorrow would suffice
To pay the debt I owe,

Tears should from both my weeping eyes

In ceaseless torrents flow.

4 But no such sacrifice I plead To expiate my guilt;

No tears, but those which thou hast shed, No blood, but thou hast spilt.

5 Think of thy sorrows, dearest Lord, And all my sins forgive:

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Justice will well approve the word,
That bids the sinner live.

Why weepest thou? John xx. 13.
HY, O my soul, why weepest thou?

W Tell me from whence arise

Those briny tears that often flow,
Those groans that pierce the skies?
2. Is sin the cause of thy complaint,
Or the chastising rod?

Dost thou an evil heart lament,
And mourn an absent God?

3 Lord, let me weep for nought but sin,
And after none but thee,

"And then, I would, O that I might ! A constant weeper be!

CXCI. C. M. Cowper.

The contrite heart. Isaiah Ivii. 15.

1 THE Lord will happiness divine

On contrite hearts bestow;

Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no?

2 I hear, but seem to hear in vain,
Insensible as steel;

If aught is felt, 'tis only pain
To find I cannot feel.

SI sometimes think myself inclin'd
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that's good.

4 My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more;
But when I cry," My strength renew,"
Seem weaker than before.

5 Thy saints are comforted I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I sometimes go where others go,
But find no comfort there.

6 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.

CXCII. L. M. Fawcett.

The Sinner awakened-What must I do to be saved?

Acts ix. 6.

WITH melting heart and weeping eyes;

My guilty soul for mercy cries,

What shall I do, or whither flee,
T' escape that vengeance due to me?
2 'Till now I saw no danger nigh;
I liv'd at ease, nor fear'd to die;
Wrapt up in self-deceit and pride,
"I shall have peace at last,” I cry`d.
3 But when, Great God, thy light divine
Had shone on this dark soul of mine,
Then I beheld, with trembling awe,
The terrors of thy holy law.

4 How dreadful now my guilt appears,
In childhood, youth, and growing years!
Before thy pure, discerning eye,
Lord, what a filthy wretch am I !
Should vengeance still my soul pursue,
Death and destruction are my due,
Yet mercy can my guilt forgive,
And bid a dying sinner live.

Does not thy sacred word proclaim
Salvation free in Jesus' name?
To him I look and humbly cry,
" save a wretch condemn'd to die!

CXCIII. S. M. Newton.

Complaining-The good that I would, I do not.

I

Rom. vii. 19.

WOULD, but cannot sing,
I would, but cannot pray;
For Satan meets me when I try,
And frights my soul away.

2 I would, but can't repent,
Though I endeavour oft;
This stony heart can ne'er relent
Till Jesus make it soft.

3 I would, but cannot love,
Though woo'd by love divine;
No arguments have pow'r to move
A soul so base as mine.

4 I would, but cannot rest,
In God's most holy will:
I know what he appoints is best,
Yet murmur at it still.

5 O could I but believe!

Then all would easy be;

I would, but cannot-Lord, relieve;
My help must come from thee!

6 But if indeed I would,

Though I can nothing do; Yet the desire is something good, For which my praise is due.

7 By nature prone to ill,

Till thine appointed hour,

I was as destitute of will,
As now I am of power.

8 Wilt thou not crown at length,
The work thou hast begun?

And with a will, afford me strength,
In all thy ways to run.

CXCIV. C. M. E. Jones.*

The successful Resolve-I will go in unto the King,

c. Esther iv. 16.

1 CA thousand thoughts revolve,

OME, mourning sinner, in whose breast

* Mr. Jones, was a truly worthy pastor of the Eap tist Church at Exon, Devon: he de parted this life on April 15, 765. aged 43. His successor was Mr. Thomas Lewis, who died Dec. 4, 1744, aged 44 years. This page is sacred to his memory.

Come, with your fear and guilt opprest,
And make this last resolve.

2 "I'll go to Jesus, though my sin
"Hath like a mountain rose;
"I know his courts, I'll enter in,
"Whatever may oppose.

3" Prostrate I'll lie before his throne,
"And there my guilt confess,
"I'll tell him I'm a wretch undone
"Without his sovereign grace.
4"I'll to the gracious King approach,
"Whose sceptre pardon gives,
"Perhaps he may command my touch,
"And then the suppliant lives.
5" Perhaps he will admit my plea,
"Perhaps will hear my pray';
"But if I perish I will pray,
"And perish only there.

6 "I can but perish if I go,
"I am resolv'd to try:
"For if I stay away, I know
"I must for ever die."

CXCV. S. M. Rippon.

A broken heart, and a bleeding Saviour.

1UNTO thine altar, Lord,

A broken heart I bring;

And wilt thou graciously accept
Of such a worthless thing?

2 To Christ the bleeding Lamb,
My faith directs its eyes;

Thou may'st reject that worthless thing
But not his sacrifice.

3 When he gave up the ghost,
The law was satisfy'd;

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And now to its most rigorous claims,
I answer, "Jesus died."

S

CXCVI. C. M. New Selec.

Self-Abhorrence.

O foolish, so absurd am I
That nothing can be more;

Was ever such a monster seen
Upon the earth before?

2 I dare not look upon the earth,
The witness of my sin;

My conscience is a doom's-day book,
I dare not look within.