Primitive Christianity, Part 2

Let the potsherds of the earth
Boast their virtue, beauty, birth;
A poor, guilty worm I am,
Ransom'd by the bleeding Lamb.

Jesus, this be all my boast,
Thou hast saved a sinner lost;
Thou hast spill'd Thy sacred blood,
Me to make a child of God.

What a glorious title this.
Title to eternal bliss!
Thou for me Thy life hast given,
Me to make an heir of heaven.

O enlarge my scanty thought
To conceive what Thou hast wrought;
Raise my groveUing spirit up
To my heavenly calling's hope.

Greaten my contracted mind,
Saviour Thou of all mankind:
What in man Thy grace could move?
O the riches of Thy love!

Let Thy love possess me whole,
Let it take up all my soul;
True magnificence impart,
Purify and fill my heart.

I despise all earthly things,
Offspring to the King of kings;
God I for my Father claim,
Jesus is my Brother's name.

Heaven is mine inheritance,
I shall soon remove from hence,
As the stars in glory shine:
Christ, and God, and all is mine!