Faith is a very simple thing,
Tho’ little understood;
It frees the soul from death’s dread sting,
By resting in the blood.
It looks not on the things around,
Nor on the things within,
It takes its flight to scenes above,
Beyond the sphere of sin.

It sees upon the throne of God
A victim that was slain;
It rests its all on His shed blood,
And says, I’m born again.
Faith is not what we feel or see,
It is a simple trust
In what the God of love has said
Of Jesus, as the Just.

The perfect One that died for me,
Upon His Father’s throne,
Presents our names before our God,
And pleads Himself alone.
What Jesus is, and that alone,
Is faith’s delightful plea;
It never deals with sinful self,
Nor righteous self, in me.

It tells me I am counted dead
By God in His own word;
It tells me I am born again
In Christ my risen Lord.
In that He died, He died to sin;
In that He lives—to God:
Then I am dead to nature’s hopes,
And justified thro’ blood.

If He is free, then I am free
From all unrighteousness;
If He is just, then I am just,
He is my righteousness.
What want I more to perfect bliss?
A body like His own
Will perfect me for greater joys,
Than angels round the throne.