Sidor som bilder


God be merciful to me, a sinner !

O HEAVENLY God! O Father dear!

Cast down thy tender eye, Upon a wretch that prostrate here

Before thy throne doth lie.

O pour thy precious oil of grace

Into my wounded heart!
O let the drops of mercy swage
The rigour


Grant mercy then, O Saviour sweet,

To me most woful thrall; Whose mournful cry to Thee, O Lord, Doth still for



Alas I sigh ! alas I sob!

Alas I do repent
That ever my licentious will

So wickedly was bent.
Sith thus therefore with yearnful plain

Thy mercy, Lord, I crave,
O Lord ! for thy great mercies' sake

Let me thy mercy have !

Restore to life the wretched soul

That else is like to die;
So shall my voice unto thy name

Sing praise eternally,


For Thou hast delivered my soul from death ;

wilt not Thou deliver my feet from falling, that I may walk before God in the light of the living ?

WHEN, gracious Lord, when shall it be,
That I shall find my all in Thee ?
The fulness of thy promise prove?
The seal of thine eternal love?

A poor blind child, I wander here,
If haply I may feel Thee near!
O dark ! dark ! dark! I still must say,
Amid the blaze of gospel day!

Thee, only Thee, I fain would find,
And cast the world and flesh behind;
Thou, only Thou, to me be given,
Of all Thou hast in earth or heaven.

Whom man forsakes, Thou wilt not leave,
Ready the outcasts to receive;
Though all my simpleness I own,
And all my faults to Thee are known.

Ah, wherefore did I ever doubt?
Thou wilt in no wise cast me out,
A helpless soul that comes to Thee,
With only sin and misery.

Lord I am sick,-my

sickness cure;
I want,--do Thou enrich the poor;
Under thy mighty hand I stoop,
O lift the abject sinner up!

Lord, I am blind,—be Thou my sight;
Lord, I am weak,-be Thou my might:
A helper of the helpless be,
And let me find my all in Thee!


Good Lord, deliver me!

IN the dark season of distress,

In sickness, want, or woe;
If friends desert, or foes oppress,

Or trouble lay me low :
If 'reft of those I fondly love,

From earthly ills I flee,
To seek sweet comfort from above,-

Good Lord, deliver me!

If wealth be mine, from all the snares

Which riches with them bring,
Oppression, avarice, worldly cares,

Ambition's goading sting,
From pride, and from that worst offence,

Forgetfulness of Thee,
Whose hand that wealth did first dispense,

Good Lord, deliver me!

When on the bed of death, a prey

To gloomy thoughts I lie,
Or worn by slow disease away,

Or racked with agony;
Stung with remorse for what hath been,

And dreading what may be
When death hath closed this mortal scene, -

Good Lord, deliver me!

And oh! in that appalling hour,

When, clouds around Thee spread, Thou com'st, arrayed in pomp

and power, To judge both quick and dead; When trembling, shrinking from thy face,

Thy servant Thou shalt see
A suppliant at the bar of grace,-

Good Lord, deliver me!


Kyrie Eleison !

LORD! have


we pray
Strength to seek a better way;
When our waking thoughts begin
First to loathe our cherished sin;
When our weary spirits fail,
And our aching brows are pale,
When our tears bedew thy word !
Then, O then, have


Lord !

Lord! have mercy when we lie
On the restless bed and sigh,
Sigh for death, yet fear it still
From the thought of former ill;
When the dim, advancing gloom
Tells us that our hour is come;
When is loosed the silver cord;
Then, 0 then, have mercy, Lord!

Lord ! have mercy when we know First how vain this world below: When its darker thoughts oppress, Doubts perplex and fears distress; When the earliest gleam is given Of thy bright but distant heaven ; Then thy fostering grace afford; Then, O then, have


Lord !

« FöregåendeFortsätt »