When the wounded spirit hears

The voice of JESUS’ blood;

How the message stops the tears

Which else in vain had flowed:

Pardon, grace, and peace proclaimed,

And the sinner called a child;

Then the stubborn heart is tamed,

Renewed, and reconciled.

O! ’twas grace indeed, to spare,

And save a wretch like me!

Men or angels could not bear

What I have offered thee:

Were thy bolts at their command,

Hell, ere now, had been my place;

Thou alone couldst silent stand,

And wait to show thy grace.

If in one created mind

The tenderness and love

Of thy saints on earth were joined,

With all the hosts above;

Still that love were weak and poor,

If compared, my LORD, with thine;

Far too scanty to endure

A heart so vile as mine.

Wondrous mercy I have found,

But ah! how faint my praise!

Must I be a cumber–ground,

Unfruitful all my days?

Do I in thy garden grow,

Yet produce thee only leaves?

LORD, forbid it should he so!

The thought my spirit grieves.

Heavy charges Satan brings

To fill me with distress;

Let me hide beneath thy wings,

And plead thy righteousness:

LORD, to thee for help I call,

’Tis thy promise bids me come;

Tell him thou hast paid for all,

And that shall strike him dumb.