HYMN 85. (C. M.) Sufficiency of Pardon.
I
Why does your face, ye humble souls,
Those mournful colours wear?
What doubts are these that waste your faith,
And nourish your despair?
II
What tho' your numerous sins exceed
The stars that fill the skies,
And aiming at th'eternal throne
Like pointed mountains rise?
III
What tho' your mighty guilt beyond
The wide creation swell,
And has its curs'd foundations laid
Low as the deeps of hell?
IV
See here an endless ocean flows
Of never-failing grace,
Behold a dying Saviour's veins
The sacred flood increase:
V
It rises high and drowns the hills,
'T has neither shore nor bound:
Nor if we search to find our sins
Our sins can ne'er be found.
VI
Awake, our hearts, adore the grace
That buries all our faults,
And pardoning blood that swells above
Our follies and our thoughts.
