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" Thou shalt see my glory soon, " When the work of grace is done ; " Partner of my throne shalt be ; " Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou Me ?"
Lord ! it is my chief complaint, That my love is weak and faint; Yet I love Thee and adore ! Oh ! for grace to love Thee more !
William Cowfter. 1779.
And can it be, that I should gain An interest in the Saviour's blood ?
Died He for me, who caus'd His pain, For me, who Him to death pursued ?
Amazing Love ! how can it be,
That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me ?
'Tis mystery all ! Th' Immortal dies !
Who can explore His strange design ? In vain the first-born seraph tries
To sound the depths of Love Divine. 'Tis mercy all ! Let earth adore ! Let angel minds enquire no more !
He left His Father's throne above, (So free, so infinite His grace ;)
Emptied Himself of all but love, And bled for Adam's helpless race.
'Tis mercy all, immense and free !
For O, my God ! it found out me !