Blest is the man, su­preme­ly blest,
Whose wick­ed­ness is all for­giv’n,
Who finds in Je­su’s wounds his rest,
And sees the smil­ing face of Heav’n.
The guilt and pow­er of sin is gone
From him that doth in Christ be­lieve,
It hid­den lies, and still kept down,
And bur­ied in his Sav­ior’s grave.

Blest is the man, to whom his Lord
No more im­putes ini­qui­ty,
Whose Spir­it is by grace re­stored,
From all the guile of Sa­tan free;
Free from de­sign, or self­ish aim,
Harmless, and pure, and un­de­filed,
A sim­ple fol­low­er of the Lamb,
And harm­less as a new-born child.

But while thro’ pride I held my tongue,
Nor owned my help­less un­be­lief,
My bones were wast­ed all day long,
My strength con­sumed with pin­ing grief.
Crushed by Thine an­ger’s hea­vy hand,
Burnt up as dry and bar­ren ground,
I ev­er of my sin com­plained,
But no re­lief or mer­cy found.

Resolved at last, to God I cried,
My sins I will at large con­fess,
My shame I will no long­er hide,
My depth of des­per­ate wick­ed­ness.
All will I own un­to my Lord,
Without re­serve or cloak­ing art,
I said; and felt the par­don­ing word,
Thy mer­cy spoke it to my heart.

For this shall ev­ery child of God
Thy pow’r and faith­ful love de­clare,
And claim the grace on all be­stowed,
Who make to Thee their time­ly pray­er;
But when the floods of judg­ment rise,
And sweep their guil­ty souls away,
Remains for sin no sac­ri­fice;
For end­ed is their gra­cious day.

Thou art my hid­ing place; in Thee
I rest se­cure from sin and hell,
Safe in the love that ran­somed me,
And shel­tered in Thy wounds I dwell.
Still shall Thy grace to me abound,
The count­less won­ders of Thy grace
I still shall tell to all around,
And sing my great de­liv­er­er’s praise.

I will in­struct the child­like heart,
(My Teach­er saith for ev­er nigh).
“Nor let thee from My paths de­part,
But guide thee with My gra­cious eye.
If thou My gra­cious look ob­ey,
And yield My per­fect will to prove,
Nor cast My ea­sy yoke away,
Or stop thine ears against My love.

Whoe’er like horse or mule with­stand,
And fol­low their own stiff necked will,
I bruise be­neath My weigh­ty hand,
And force them all My plagues to feel.
But they that dare in Me con­fide,
Shall on­ly know My par­don­ing grace,
My mer­cy’s arms on ev­ery side
Shall ev­ery faith­ful soul em­brace.

Ye faith­ful souls, re­joice in Him,
Whose arms are still your sure de­fense;
Your Lord is migh­ty to re­deem:
Believe, and who shall pluck you thence?
All ye of up­right heart, be glad,
For Je­sus is your God and friend,
He keeps those who on Him are stayed,
And He shall keep them to the end.