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Poem by Henry Livingston
Hail sov’reign love that first began, The scheme to rescue fallen man; Hail matchless, free, eternal grace, That gave my soul a Hiding-Place. Against the God that rules the sky, I fought with hands uplifted high; Despis’d the mentions of his grace, Too proud to seek a Hiding-Place. Enwrapt in thick Egyptian night, And fond of darkness more than light, Madly I ran the sinful race, Secure without a Hiding-Place. But thus the eternal counsel ran, Almighty Love arrest that man; I felt the arrows of distress, And saw that I’d no Hiding-Place. Indignant Justice stood in view, To Sina’s fiery mount I flew; But Justice cry’d with frowning face, This mountain is no Hiding-Place. Ere long a Heav’nly voice I heard, And Mercy’s angel form appear’d, She led me on with placid pace, To Jesus as my Hiding-Place. Should storms of sevenfold thunder roll, And shake the globe from pole to pole, No flaming bolt should daunt my face, For Jesus is my Hiding-Place. On him almighty vengeance fell, That must have sunk the world to hell: He bore it for the chosen race, And thus became their Hiding-Place. A few more rolling suns at most, Shall land us on fair Canaan’s coast, Where we shall sing the song of grace, And see our glorious Hiding-Place.
Henry Livingston's other poems:
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