
My Saviour is my only life.
My treasure is his cross;
And everything besides himself
Is emptiness and loss.
My treasure is his cross;
And everything besides himself
Is emptiness and loss.
Here treasure lies ; whoever hath,
He thirsts, he wants no more;
And yet professes still to be
Both indigent and poor.
He thirsts, he wants no more;
And yet professes still to be
Both indigent and poor.
He stays himself upon the Rock
Of his Redeemer's breast,
Where envious Satan, death, or hell
Can ne'er disturb his rest.
Of his Redeemer's breast,
Where envious Satan, death, or hell
Can ne'er disturb his rest.
Come, sinners, then, in numerous throngs.
The blind, the halt, the poor,
To Jesus, wretched as ye are,
And ye shall fear no more.
Nor qualify nor first compose
Yourselves into a frame,
Which would you do a thousand times
You would be just the same.
Come, then, a sinner as thou art,
A miserable one,
And thou shalt find th' atoning blood
Thy comfort here alone.
1 comment:
Nice to have you back, Gary. While on a Welsh weekend at Llangrannog I found a shop that sold second-hand books and bought Gweithiau Pantycelyn. In the minibus on the way home to Cardiff one of the tutors said "What did you buy ?" So I got the books out and the rest of the way the thrilled tutors were reading hymns and explaining words like iachawdwriaeth and pechod and maddeuant.
I was the only Christian on the weekend. Is there other country in the world as blest or as apostate as Wales ?
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