Verse & Song


Approach, my soul, the mercy seat,
Where Jesus answers prayer;
There humbly fall before His feet,
For none can perish there.

Thy promise is my only plea,
With this I venture nigh;
Thou callest burdened souls to Thee,
And such, O Lord, am I.

Bowed down beneath a load of sin,
By Satan sorely pressed,
By war without and fears within,
I come to Thee for rest.

Be Thou my Shield and hiding Place,
That, sheltered by Thy side,
I may my fierce accuser face,
And tell him Thou hast died!

O wondrous love! to bleed and die,
To bear the cross and shame,
That guilty sinners, such as I,
Might plead Thy gracious Name.

“Poor tempest tossed soul, be still;
My promised grace receive”;
’Tis Jesus speaks—I must, I will,
I can, I do believe.

John Newton


Sometimes a light surprises
The Christian while he sings;
It is the Lord who rises
With healing in his wings:
When comforts are declining,
He grants the soul again
A season of clear shining,
To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation,
We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation,
And find it ever new:
Set free from present sorrow,
We cheerfully can say,
E'en let th' unknown to-morrow
Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing
But he will bear us through;
Who gives the lilies clothing,
Will clothe his people too:
Beneath the spreading heavens,
No creature but is fed;
And he who feeds the ravens,
Will give his children bread.

Though vine nor fig-tree neither
Their wonted fruit shall bear,
Though all the field should wither,
Nor flocks nor herds be there:
Yet God the same abiding,
His praise shall tune my voice;
For while in him confiding,
I cannot but rejoice.

John Newton


John Newton, 1779

With Satan, my accuser, near
My spirit trembled when I saw
The Lord in majesty appear,
And heard the language of the law.

In vain I wish'd and strove to hide
The tatter'd, filthy rags I wore;
While my fierce foe insulting cry'd
See what you trusted in before!

Struck dumb, and left without a plea,
I heard my gracious Saviour say,
Know Satan, I this sinner free,
I died to take his sin away.

This is a brand which I, in love,
To save from wrath and sin design!
In vain thy accusations prove;
I answer all, and call him mine.

At his rebuke the tempter fled;
Then he remov'd my filthy dress;
Poor sinner, take this robe, he said,
It is thy Saviour's righteousness.

And see, a crown of life prepar'd!
That I might thus my head adorn;
I thought no shame or suff'ring hard,
But wore for thee a crown of thorn.

O how I heard these gracious words!
They broke and heal'd my heart at once;
Constrained me to become the Lord's,
And all my idol-gods renounce.

Now, Satan, thou hast lost thy aim,
Against this brand thy threats are vain;
JESUS has pluck'd it from the flame,
And who shall put it in again?

Thou glorious Bridegroom of our hearts,
Thy radiant smile a heaven departs;
Oh lift the veil, if veil there be,
Let Thy redeemed Thy beauties see.

Then on our faces shall the sight
Kindles a blaze of holy light,
And men with awe-struck wonder see
The glory we derive from Thee.

No more, my God, I boast no more
Of all the duties I have done;
I quit the hopes I held before,
To trust the merits of Thy Son.

The best obedience of my hands
Dares not appear before Thy throne;
But faith can answer Thy demands,
By pleading what my Lord has done.

With broken heart and contrite sigh,
A trembling sinner, Lord, I cry;
Thy pardoning grace is rich and free;
Oh God! be merciful to me.

I smite upon my troubled breast,
With deep and conscious guilt oppressed:
Christ and His cross my only plea;
Oh God! be merciful to me.

C. H. Spurgeon

If ask'd what of Jesus I think,
Though still my best thoughts are but poor,
I'd say, He's my meat and my drink,
My life, and my strength, and my store,
My Shepherd, my Husband, my Friend,
My Saviour from sin and from thrall,
My hope from beginning to end,
My Portion, my Lord, and my All.

John Newton

Listen now! the Lord hath done it!
For he loved us unto death;
It is finished! He has saved us!
Only trust to what he saith.
He hath done it! come and bless him,
Spend in praise your ransomed breath
Evermore and evermore.

Oh, believe the Lord hath done it!
Wherefore linger? Wherefore doubt?
All the cloud of black transgression
He himself hath blotted out.
He hath done it! Come and bless him,
Swell the grand thanksgiving shout,
Evermore and evermore.

Go worship at Emmanuel's feet
See in his face all wonders meet!
The whole creation can afford
But some faint shadow of my Lord.
Is he compared to wine and bread?
Dear Lord, our souls would thus be fed!
Is he a tree? Then we receive
Salvation from his healing leaves!
Is he a rose? Not Sharon yields
Such fragrancy in all her fields!
Is he the vine? His heavenly root
Supplies the branch with life and fruit!
Is he the fountain? There I bathe
And heal the plague of sin and death.
Is he a fire? He will purge my dross
So the true gold sustains no loss!
Is he the rock? How firm he proves!
The Rock of Ages never moves.
Is he the way that leads to God?
There would I walk in lines of blood!
Is he the door? I'll enter in
To feed on pastures large and green!
Is he the temple? I'll adore
The indwelling majesty and power!
Is he the sun? His beams are grace,
His course is joy and righteousness!
His beauties we can never trace
Till we behold him face to face!

Why was I made to hear His voice,
And enter while there's room,
When thousands make a wretched choice,
And rather starve than come!
'Twas the same love that spread the feast,
That sweetly forced us in;
Else we had still refused to taste
And perished in our sin.

Yes, mercy reigns, and justice too,
In Christ they both harmonious meet;
Christ paid to justice all her due,
And now He fills the mercy-seat.

O Christ, He is the fountain,
The deep, sweet well of love!
The streams on earth I've tasted,
More deep I'll drink above.
There to an ocean-fulness
His mercy doth expand,
Where glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

Oh! I am my Beloved's,
And my Beloved is mine!
He brings a poor vile sinner
Into 'His house of wine.'
I stand upon His merits;
I know no safer stand,
Not e'en where glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

A. B. Cousin

Now it wonderingly rejoiceth,
Finds in Thee unearthly bliss,
Rests in Thy divine perfection,
And is satisfied with this.

Altogether fair and lovely,
Evermore the same to me;
Precious, infinite Lord Jesus,
I am satisfied with Thee!

Jean S. Pigott

A debtor to mercy alone,
Of covenant mercy I sing,
Nor fear with Thy righteousness on,
My person and offerings to bring;
The terrors of law and of God
With me can have nothing to do;
My Saviour's obedience and blood
Hide all my transgressions from view.

Here's pardon full for sin that's past;
It matters not how black the cast.
And oh, my soul, with wonder view,
For sins to come here's pardon too.

J. Kent

May not the Sov'reign Lord on high
Dispense His favors as He will:
Choose some to life, while others die,
And yet be just and gracious still?

Shall man reply against the Lord,
And call his Maker's ways unjust?
The thunder whose dread word
Can crush a thousand worlds to dust.

But, O my soul, if truths so bright
Should dazzle and confound thy sight,
Yet still His written will obey,
And wait the great decisive day!