1 By the thoughtless world derided,
Still I love the word of God;
'Tis the crook by which I'm guided,
Often 'tis a chastening rod.
'Tis a sword that cuts asunder
All my pride and vanity,
When abas'd I lie, and wonder
That he spares a wretch like me.
2 This confirms me when I waver,
Sets my trembling judgment right;
When I stray, how much so over,
This is my restoring light:
Satan oft, and sin, assail me,
With temptations ever new;
Then, O nothing can avail me,
'Till my bleeding Lord I view.
3 Faith I need, O Lord bestow it,
Give my labouring mind relief;
Oft, alas! I doubt, I know it,
Help, O help my unbelief.
Dearest Saviour, by thy merit
May I gain a future crown;
Guide, O guide me by thy Spirit,
Till these storms are overblown!
|First Line:||By the thoughtless world derided|
|Topic:||The Bible—O how I love thy law; The Means of Grace: The Word of God; The Scriptures|