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V.

AND FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES.

"And forgive us our trespasses; as we forgive them that trespass against us."

CCXIX.

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 burden'd souls to Thee,

And such, O Lord, am I.

Bow'd down beneath a load of sin,
By Satan sorely prest,

By war without, and fears within,
I come to Thee for rest.

Be Thou my shield and hiding-place,
That, shelter'd near 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!

John Newton. 1779.

CCXX.

Almighty God, Thy piercing eye
Strikes through the shades of night;
And our most secret actions lie
All open to Thy sight.

There's not a sin that we commit,
Nor wicked word we say,

But in Thy dreadful book 'tis writ
Against the judgment-day.

And must the crimes that I have done
́Be read and publish'd there,

Be all expos'd before the sun,
While men and angels hear?

Lord! at Thy foot ashamed I lie,
Upward I dare not look;

Pardon my sins before I die,

And blot them from Thy book!

Remember all the dying pains

That my Redeemer felt,

And let His Blood wash out my stains,

And answer for my guilt!

Isaac Watts. 1715.

CCXXI.

Mercy alone can meet my case;
For mercy, Lord, I cry :

Jesus! Redeemer! show Thy face
In mercy, or I die.

Save me, for none beside can save;
At Thy command I tread
With failing step life's stormy wave;
The wave goes o'er my
head.

I perish, and my doom were just;
But wilt Thou leave me? No:
I hold Thee fast, my hope, my trust;
I will not let Thee go!

Still sure to me Thy promise stands,
And ever must abide;

Behold it written on Thy hands,
And graven in Thy side!

To this, this only, will I cleave;
Thy word is all my plea;

Thy word is truth, and I believe :
Have mercy, Lord, on me!

James Montgomery. 1825

CCXXII.

O Jesus, Saviour of the lost,
My Rock and Hiding-place,
By storms of sin and sorrow tost,
I seek Thy sheltering grace.

Guilty, forgive me, Lord! I cry ;
Pursued by foes I come;

A sinner, save me, or I die;
An outcast, take me home

Once safe in Thine almighty arms,
Let storms come on amain;
There danger never, never harms;
There death itself is gain.

And when I stand before Thy throne,
And all Thy glory see,

Still be my righteousness alone

To hide myself in Thee.

Edward Henry Bickersteth. 1858,

CCXXIII.

When at Thy footstool, Lord, I bend,
And plead with Thee for mercy there,
Think of the sinner's dying friend,

And for His sake receive my prayer.

O think not of my shame and guilt,

My thousand stains of deepest dye; Think of the blood which Jesus spilt, And let that blood my pardon buy.

Think, Lord, how I am still Thy own,

The trembling creature of Thy hand;
Think how my heart to sin is prone,
And what temptations round me stand.

O think upon Thy holy word,

And every plighted promise there;
How prayer should evermore be heard,
And how Thy glory is to spare.

O think not of my doubts and fears,
My strivings with Thy grace Divine :
Think upon Jesus' woes and tears,

And let His merits stand for mine.

Thine eye, Thine ear, they are not dull;
Thine arm can never shorten'd be ;

Behold me here; my heart is full;
Behold, and spare, and succour me!

Henry Francis Lyte. 1833.

CCXXIV.

As o'er the past my memory strays,
Why heaves the secret sigh?
'Tis that I mourn departed days,
Still unprepared to die.

The world, and worldly things beloved,
My anxious thoughts employed,
And time unhallow'd, unimproved,
Presents a fearful void.

Yet, holy Father, wild despair

Chase from my labouring breast!

Thy grace it is, which prompts the prayer: That grace can do the rest.

My life's brief remnant all be Thine!

And, when Thy sure decree

Bids me this fleeting breath resign,

O, speed my soul to Thee!

Bishop Thomas Fanshaw Middleton. [1822.]

CCXXV.

Forth from the dark and stormy sky,
Lord! to Thine altar's shade we fly:
Forth from the world, its hope and fear,
Saviour! we seek Thy shelter here:
Weary and weak, Thy grace we pray :
Turn not, O Lord, Thy guests away!

Long have we roam'd in want and pain;
Long have we sought Thy rest in vain ;
Wilder'd in doubt, in darkness lost,
Long have our souls been tempest-tost:
Low at Thy feet our sins we lay;
Turn not, O Lord, Thy guests away!

Bishop Reginald Heber. 1827.

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