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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
HYMN VI.
[Glorious Saviour of my soul]
Glorious Saviour of my soul,
I lift it up to Thee;
Thou hast made the sinner whole,
Hast set the captive free:
Thou my debt of death hast paid,
Thou hast raised me from my fall,
Thou hast an atonement made:
My Saviour died for all.
I lift it up to Thee;
Thou hast made the sinner whole,
Hast set the captive free:
11
Thou hast raised me from my fall,
Thou hast an atonement made:
My Saviour died for all.
What could my Redeemer move
To leave His Father's breast?
Pity drew Him from above,
And would not let Him rest:
Swift to succour sinking man,
Sinking into endless woe,
Jesus to our rescue ran,
And God appear'd below.
To leave His Father's breast?
Pity drew Him from above,
And would not let Him rest:
Swift to succour sinking man,
Sinking into endless woe,
Jesus to our rescue ran,
And God appear'd below.
God in this dark vale of tears
A Man of Griefs was seen;
Here for three and thirty years
He dwelt with sinful men.
Did they know the Deity?
Did they own Him who He was?
See, the Friend of Sinners see!
He hangs on yonder cross.
A Man of Griefs was seen;
Here for three and thirty years
He dwelt with sinful men.
Did they know the Deity?
Did they own Him who He was?
See, the Friend of Sinners see!
He hangs on yonder cross.
Who hath done the direful deed,
Hath crucified my God?
Curses on his guilty head
That spilt that precious blood;
Worthy is the wretch to die:
Self-condemn'd, alas, is he!
I have sold my Saviour, I
Have nail'd Him to the tree.
Hath crucified my God?
Curses on his guilty head
That spilt that precious blood;
Worthy is the wretch to die:
Self-condemn'd, alas, is he!
I have sold my Saviour, I
Have nail'd Him to the tree.
Yet Thy wrath I cannot fear,
Thou gentle, bleeding Lamb;
By Thy judgment I am clear,
Heal'd by Thy stripes I am:
Thou for me a curse wast made,
That I might in Thee be blest;
Thou hast my full ransom paid,
And in Thy wounds I rest.
Thou gentle, bleeding Lamb;
By Thy judgment I am clear,
Heal'd by Thy stripes I am:
12
That I might in Thee be blest;
Thou hast my full ransom paid,
And in Thy wounds I rest.
How shall I commend the grace
Which all with me may prove;
Magnify Thy mercy's praise,
Thy all-redeeming love?
O 'tis more than tongue can tell!
Who the mystery shall explain?
Angels that in strength excel
Would search it out in vain.
Which all with me may prove;
Magnify Thy mercy's praise,
Thy all-redeeming love?
O 'tis more than tongue can tell!
Who the mystery shall explain?
Angels that in strength excel
Would search it out in vain.
Far above their noblest songs
Thy glorious mercies rise;
Praise sits silent on their tongues,
And wonder lulls the skies!
O might I with them be one,
Lost in speechless rapture fall,
Cast my crown before Thy throne,
Thou Lamb that diedst for all!
Thy glorious mercies rise;
Praise sits silent on their tongues,
And wonder lulls the skies!
O might I with them be one,
Lost in speechless rapture fall,
Cast my crown before Thy throne,
Thou Lamb that diedst for all!
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |