I oft read with pleasure, to sooth or engage,
Isaiah’s wild measure and John’s simple page;
But e’en when they pictured the blood sprinkled tree
Jesus the Saviour seemed nothing to me.

Like tears from the daughters of Zion that roll,
I wept when the waters went over His soul;
Yet thought not that my sins had nailed to the tree
Jesus the Saviour ’twas nothing to me.

When free grace awoke me, by light from on high,
Then legal fears shook me, I trembled to die;
No refuge, no safety in self could I see—
Jesus my Saviour, my Saviour must be.

My terrors all vanished before the sweet name;
My guilty fears banished, with boldness I came
To drink at the fountain, life giving and free—
Jesus my Saviour is all things to me.

Jesus my Saviour! My treasure and boast,
Jesus my Saviour! I ne’er can be lost;
In thee I shall conquer by flood and by field,
My cable, my anchor, my breast-plate and shield!

O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
Spread His praise from shore to shore!
How He loveth, ever loveth,
Changeth never, nevermore!
How He watches o’er His loved ones, Died to call them all His own;
How for them He intercedeth,
Watcheth o’er them from the throne!

I will sing of my Redeemer
With His blood, He purchased me
On the cross, He sealed my pardon
Paid the debt and made me free

I will tell the wondrous story
How, my lost estate to save
In His boundless love and mercy
He the ransom freely gave

I will praise my dear Redeemer
His triumphant power I’ll tell
How the victory He giveth
Over sin and death and hell

Ye chosen heirs from ev'ry race,
Ye ransomed from the fall,
Hail Him Who saves you by His grace,
And crown Him Lord of all.
Hail Him Who saves you by His grace,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Sinners, whose love can ne’er forget
The wormwood and the gall,
Go spread your trophies at His feet,
And crown Him Lord of all.
Go spread your trophies at His feet,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Let every tribe, and every tongue
Before Him prostrate fall
To Him all majesty ascribe,
And crown Him Lord of all.
To Him all majesty ascribe,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ, my God;
All the vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to His blood.

See, from His head, His hands, His feet,
Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet,
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson, like a robe,
Spreads o’er His body on the tree;
Then I am dead to all the globe,
And all the globe is dead to me.

Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all.

Be Thou my wisdom and Thou my true word
I ever with Thee and Thou with me, Lord
Thou my great Father, and I Thy true son
Thou in my dwelling, and I with Thee one

Be Thou my battle shield, sword for the fight
Be Thou my dignity, Thou my delight
Thou my soul’s shelter, Thou my high tower
Raise Thou me heavenward, O power of my power

Riches I need not, nor man’s empty praise
Thou mine inheritance, now and always
Thou and Thou only, first in my heart
High King of heaven, my treasure Thou art

She is from every nation,
Yet one o’er all the earth
Her charter of salvation,
One Lord, one faith, one birth
One holy Name she blesses,
Partakes one holy food
And to one hope she presses,
With every grace endued

The Church shall never perish!
Her dear Lord to defend
To guide, sustain, and cherish,
Is with her to the end
Though there be those who hate her,
And false sons in her pale
Against both foe or traitor,
She ever shall prevail

Though with a scornful wonder
Men see her sore oppressed
By schisms rent asunder,
By heresies distressed
Yet saints their watch are keeping,
Their cry goes up, “How long?”
And soon the night of weeping
Shall be the morn of song!

It is well, with my soul
It is well, it is well with my soul

Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,
Let this blessed assurance control,
That Christ has regarded my helpless estate,
And hath shed His own blood for my soul.

My sin, oh the bliss of this glorious thought!
My sin, not in part but the whole,
Is nailed to the cross, and I bear it no more,
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, O my soul!

For me, be it Christ, be it Christ hence to live:
If Jordan above me shall roll,
No pang shall be mine, for in death as in life
Thou wilt whisper Thy peace to my soul.

But, Lord, ‘tis for Thee, for Thy coming we wait,
The sky, not the grave, is our goal;
Oh trump of the angel! Oh voice of the Lord!
Blessed hope, blessed rest of my soul!