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Hymn 150 The offices of Christ. From several scriptures. Join all the glorious names Of wisdom, love, and power, That ever mortals knew, That angels ever bore: All are too mean to speak his worth, Too mean to set my Savior forth. But O what gentle terms, What condescending ways, Doth our Redeemer use To teach his heav'nly grace! Mine eyes with joy and wonder see What forms of love he bears for me. [Arrayed in mortal flesh, He like an angel stands, And holds the promises And pardons in his hands; Commissioned from his Father's throne To make his grace to mortals known.] [Great Prophet of my God, My tongue would bless thy name; By thee the joyful news Of our salvation came: The joyful news of sins forgiv'n, Of hell subdued, and peace with heav'n.] [Be thou my Counsellor, My Pattern, and my Guide; And through this desert land Still keep me near thy side: O let my feet ne'er run astray, Nor rove, nor seek the crooked way.] [I love my Shepherd's voice, His watchful eyes shall keep My wand'ring soul among The thousands of his sheep: He feeds his flock, he calls their names, His bosom bears the tender lambs.] [To this dear Surety's hand Will I commit my cause; He answers and fulfils His Father's broken laws: Behold my soul at freedom set! My Surety paid the dreadful debt.] [Jesus, my great High Priest, Offered his blood, and died; My guilty conscience seeks No sacrifice beside: His powerful blood did once atone, And now it pleads before the throne.] [My Advocate appears For my defence on high; The Father bows his ears, And lays his thunder by: Not all that hell or sin can say Shall turn his heart, his love away.] [My dear Almighty Lord, My Conqueror and my King! Thy sceptre and thy sword, Thy reigning grace I sing: Thine is the power; behold, I sit In willing bonds before thy feet.] [Now let my soul arise, And tread the tempter down; My Captain leads me forth To conquest and a crown: A feeble saint shall win the day, Though death and hell obstruct the way.] Should all the hosts of death, And powers of hell unknown, Put their most dreadful forms Of rage and mischief on, I shall be safe, for Christ displays Superior power, and guardian grace. Isaac Watts's other poems: Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1324 |
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