William Cowper

Lord, who hast suffer'd all for me, My peace and pardon to procure, The lighter cross I bear for Thee, Help me with patience to endure.

The storm of loud repining hush; I would in humble silence mourn; Why should the unburnt, though burning bush, Be angry as the crackling thorn?

Man should not faint at Thy rebuke, Like Joshua falling on his face, When the cursed thing that Achan took Brought Israel into just disgrace.

Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd, Some secret sin offends my God; Perhaps that Babylonish vest, Self-righteousness, provokes the rod.

Ah! were I buffeted all day, Mock'd, crown'd with thorns and spit upon, I yet should have no right to say, My great distress is mine alone.

Let me not angrily declare No pain was ever sharp like mine, Nor murmur at the cross I bear, But rather weep, remembering Thine.

Jesus! where'er Thy people meet, There they behold Thy mercy seat; Where'er they seek Thee, Thou art found, And every place is hallow'd ground.

For Thou, within no walls confined, Inhabitest the humble mind; Such ever bring Thee where they come And going, take Thee to their home.

Dear Shepherd of Thy chosen few! Thy former mercies here renew; Her to our waiting hearts proclaim The sweetness of Thy saving name.

Here may we prove the power of prayer, To strengthen faith, and sweeten care; To teach our faint desires to rise, And bring all Heaven before our eyes.

Behold, at Thy commanding word We stretch the curtain and the cord; Come Thou, and fill this wider space, And bless us with a large increase.

Lord, we are few, but Thou art near: Nor short Thine arm, nor deaf Thine ear; Oh rend the heavens, come quickly down, And make a thousand hearts Thine own.

Far from the world, O Lord, I flee, From strife and tumult far; From scenes where Satan wages still His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade, With prayer and praise agree; And seem, by Thy sweet bounty made, For those who follow Thee.

There if Thy Spirit touch the soul, And grace her mean abode, Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love, She communes with her God!

There like the nightingale she pours Her solitary lays; Nor asks a witness of her song, Nor thirsts for human praise.

Author and Guardian of my life, Sweet source of light Divine, And, -- all harmonious names in one, -- My Saviour! Thou art mine.

What thanks I owe Thee, and what love, A boundless, endless store, Shall echo through the realms above, When time shall be no more.

Of all the gifts Thine hand bestows, Thou Giver of all good! Not heaven itself a richer knows Than my Redeemer's blood.

Faith too, the blood-receiving grace, From the same hand we gain; Else, sweetly as it suits our case, That gift had been in vain.

Till Thou Thy teaching power apply, Our hearts refuse to see, And weak, as a distemper'd eye, Shut out the view of Thee.

Blind to the merits of Thy Son, What misery we endure! Yet fly that Hand from which alone We could expect a cure.

We praise Thee, and would praise Thee more, To Thee our all we owe: The precious Saviour, and the power That makes Him precious too.

When darkness long has veil'd my mind, And smiling day once more appears, Then, my Redeemer, then I find The folly of my doubts and fears.

Straight I upbraid my wandering heart, And blush that I should ever be Thus prone to act so base a part, Or harbour one hard thought of Thee!

Oh! let me then at length be taught What I am still so slow to learn, That God is love, and changes not, Nor knows the shadow of a turn.

Sweet truth, and easy to repeat! But when my faith is sharply tried, I find myself a learner yet, Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.

But, O my Lord, one look from Thee Subdues the disobedient will, Drives doubt and discontent away, And Thy rebellious worm is still.

Thou art as ready to forgive As I am ready to repine; Thou, therefore, all the praise receive; Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.

Gracious Lord, our children see, By Thy mercy we are free; But shall these, alas! remain Subjects still of Satan's reign? Israel's young ones, when of old Pharaoh threaten'd to withhold, Then Thy messenger said, "No; Let the children also go!"

When the angel of the Lord, Drawing forth his dreadful sword, Slew with an avenging hand, All the first-born of the land; Then Thy people's door he pass'd, Where the bloody sign was placed: Hear us, now, upon our knees, Plead the blood of Christ for these!

Lord, we tremble, for we know How the fierce malicious foe, Wheeling round his watchful flight, Keeps them ever in his sight: Spread Thy pinions, King of kings! Hide them safe beneath Thy wings; Lest the ravenous bird of prey Stoop and bear the brood away.

(Judges, vi.25)

Jesus! whose blood so freely stream'd To satisfy the law's demand; By Thee from guilt and wrath redeem'd, Before the Father's face I stand.

To reconcile offending man, Make Justice drop her angry rod; What creature could have form'd the plan, Or who fulfil it but a God?

No drop remains of all the curse, For wretches who deserved the whole; No arrows dipt in wrath to pierce The guilty, but returning soul.

Peace by such means so dearly bought, What rebel could have hoped to see? Peace by his injured Sovereign wrought, His Sovereign fasten'd to a tree.

Now, Lord, Thy feeble worm prepare! For strife with earth and hell begins; Conform and gird me for the war; They hate the soul that hates his sins.

Let them in horrid league agree! They may assault, they may distress; But cannot quench Thy love to me, Nor rob me of the Lord my peace.

My song shall bless the Lord of all, My praise shall climb to His abode; Thee, Saviour, by that name I call, The great Supreme, the mighty God.

Without beginning or decline, Object of faith and not of sense; Eternal ages saw Him shine, He shines eternal ages hence.

As much when in the manger laid, Almighty Ruler of the sky, As when the six days' work He made, Fill'd all the morning stars with joy.

Of all the crowns Jehovah bears, Salvation is His dearest claim; That gracious sound well pleased He hears And owns Emmanuel for His name.

A cheerful confidence I feel, My well placed hopes with joy I see; My bosom glows with heavenly zeal, To worship Him who died for me.

As man He pities my complaint, His power and truth are all divine; He will not fail, He cannot faint; Salvation's sure, and must be mine.