Favourite Welsh Hymns Part 3

Strange Thou shouldst have looked on me-- Worthless, guilty: Who can count my debt to Thee, Lord, most holy?

If I reach thy heavenly seat, Songs unceasing Shall my raptured tongue repeat-- Thee adoring.

XX.

OUT OF THE DUST.

Lord, hear my cry and see my case, As hart for streams I pant for grace: Come, O my G.o.d, bear me above, To bathe my wounds in thy blest love.

Are there not myriads now in bliss, Whose cry on earth was often this?

Here in the dust how deep their groans, But now they sit on glorious thrones.

When shall I that glad hour behold, When sin shall quit its deadly hold; When I my Christ unveiled shall see, And pa.s.s through all my misery!

O that I could from sinning cease, And wait on Pisgah my release, Until I saw the dawn of day, And Jesus called his child away!

If Thou wilt not complete me now, Before my head in death I bow, In dreary Kedar walk with me; My life would languish losing Thee.

XXI.

ANTIc.i.p.aTION.

If I, the sin-benighted, At length attain the goal, O what will be the transport Of my enraptured soul: The triumph celebrating Of saving Mercy's power, Nor dread again to perish, Nor wander evermore!

XXII.

KISSING THE ROD.

Teach me Aaron's thoughtful silence When corrected by thy rod; Teach me Eli's acquiescence, Saying, "Do thy will, my G.o.d:"

Teach me Job's confiding patience, Dreading words from pride that flow; For Thou, Lord, alone exaltest, And Thou only layest low.

XXIII.

SPEAKING UNTO G.o.d.

How shall I my case discover, Who can estimate my grief!

If a cloud thy presence darken, Nought can give my soul relief.

Through the clouds let my entreaty-- Let these sighs to Thee ascend, Till new light break o'er my spirit-- Till thy gracious ear attend.

All my groans, my sighs, and weeping, All my best resolves are vain, My most watchful thoughts avail not, Victory o'er sin to gain.

Lord, His name I plead who suffered For lost man thy holy frown: See the reed, the cross, the scourging; See the robe, the th.o.r.n.y crown!

Through the sole atoning merit Of the blood by Jesus shed, Scatter all the sin that hinders Heaven from s.h.i.+ning on my head.

Pardon all the great transgressions, Which I cannot count to Thee: Look for merits in my Saviour, Not, my righteous G.o.d, in me.

If for sin He was afflicted, If the spear did pierce His side, If His hands and feet were nailed, If flowed forth His vital tide; Let the fruit of that deep anguish, Let the purchase of that pain, Be imparted to my spirit-- Shall the plea be made in vain!

XXIV.

EXPERIENCE.

(IN IMITATION OF A FAVOURITE WELSH MEASURE.)

Sweet, sweet, It is with thine, my G.o.d, to meet, And lay our burdens at Thy feet: False pa.s.sion's heat from thence departs; Our weary hearts before Thee rest, And by thee blessed forget their smarts.

Far, far, From me my comrades in the war, And this doth much my courage mar: Haste in thy car of strength, O Lord!

With thine own sword my foes confound: Then all the year round I'll trust thy word.

XXV.

THE DAILY CROSS.

And must the cross attend my way, And load my spirit night and day?

Lord, if it must, make me content: Help me to keep the end in view, And sing through fire and water too, Until my span of life be spent.

Oft I recall thy faithful love-- The comfort promised from above-- The legacy Thou gavest--peace: Impart from day to day to me That peace, that comfort, Lord, and see That with my strength my cross decrease.

If to the east or west I go.

None true like Him on earth I know, He makes my fainting spirit strong: If His bright face upon me s.h.i.+ne, I can the world and self resign: My crosses then become my song.

XXVI.

THE CROSS A CROWN.

My Lord with his affliction, His cross and bitter pain, Affords me joy while living, And dying will be gain.

In his reproach is honour, In his rude cross a crown, And in his love a treasure Surpa.s.sing all renown.

XXVII.

EARLY HOPES.

In the morning I expected, That I should long, long ere now, All my eager foes have conquered, That a crown should grace my brow War and tumult, Still distress my wearied ears.

In an agony of longing, I await the signal day, When my fetters shall be broken, When from earth I fly away; And for tumults, Hear alone the songs of heaven.

x.x.xVIII.

EXILE.

I'll spend my few remaining days, While here ordained to roam, As exiles do in distant lands, I'll think of nought but home.