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Poem by John Newton
They Shall Be Mine, Saith the Lord
When sinners utter boasting words, And glory in their shame; The Lord, well-pleased, an ear affords To those who fear his name. They often meet to seek his face, And what they do, or say, Is noted in his book of grace Against another day. For they, by faith, a day descry, And joyfully expect, When he, descending from the sky, His jewels will collect. Unnoticed now, because unknown, A poor and suff'ring few; He comes to claim them for his own, And bring them forth to view. With transport then their Saviour's care And favour they shall prove; As tender parents guard and spare The children of their love. Assembled worlds will then discern The saints alone are blest; When wrath shall like an oven burn, And vengeance strike the rest.
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