Hoping for Grace

My soul before Thee prostrate lies,
To Thee, her Source, my spirit flies;
My wants I mourn, my chains I see:
O, let Thy presence set me free!

Lost and undone, for aid I cry;
In Thy death, Saviour, let me die!
Grieved with Thy grief, pain'd with Thy pain,
Ne'er may I feel self-love again.

Jesu, vouchsafe my heart and will
With Thy meek lowhness to fill;
No more her power let Nature boast,
But in Thy will may mine be lost.

In life's short day let me yet more
Of Thy enlivening power implore:
My mind must deeper sink in Thee,
My foot stand firm, from wandering free.

Ye sons of men, here nought avails
Your strength; here all your wisdom fails:
Who bids a sinful heart be clean?
Thou only, Lord, supreme of men.

And well I know Thy tender love;
Thou never didst unfaithful prove:
And well I know Thou stand'st by me,
Pleased from myself to set me free.

Still will I watch, and labour still
To banish every thought of ill;
Till Thou in Thy good time appear,
And sav'st me from the fowler's snare.

Already springing hope I feel;
God will destroy the power of hell:
God from the land of wars and pain
Leads me where peace and safety reign.

One only care my soul shall know, —
Father, all Thy commands to do:
Ah! deep engrave it on my breast,
That I in Thee even now am blest.

When my warm'd thoughts I fix on Thee,
And plunge me in Thy mercy's sea,
Then even on me Thy face shall shine,
And quicken this dead heart of mine.

So even in storms my zeal shall grow;
So shall I Thy hid sweetness know;
And feel (what endless age shall prove)
That Thou, my Lord, my God, art Love!
The Dawning. — Psalm cxxxix. 23.