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The Book of Praise.
Long my imprison'd spirit lay, Fast bound in sin and natures night;
Thine eye diffus'd a quickening ray ; I woke ; the dungeon flam'd with light:
My chains fell off, my heart was free,
I rose, went forth, and follow'd Thee !
Still the small inward voice I hear, That whispers all my sins forgiven ;
Still the atoning Blood is near, That quench'd the wrath of hostile Heaven ;
I feel the life His wounds impart;
I feel my Saviour in my heart.
No condemnation now I dread ;
Jesus, and all in Him, is mine ! Alive in Him, my living Head,
And cloth'd in righteousness Divine, Bold I approach th' Eternal Throne, And claim the crown, through Christ my own.
Charles Wesley. 1739.
CCCXLVIII.
Now I have found the ground wherein Sure my soul's anchor may remain ;
The wounds of Jesus, for my sin Before the world's foundation slain ;
Whose mercy shall unshaken stay
When heaven and earth are fled away.
Father, Thine everlasting grace Our scanty thought surpasses far ;
Thy heart still melts with tenderness ; Thine arms of love still open are,
Returning sinners to receive,
That mercy they may taste and live. |
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