| |
Thy praises, Lord , I show; No more, with sacrilegious pride, I rob thee of thy due. I throw me at thy feet; Nor, as a debt, thy favour claim, But, as an alms, intreat. By which to thee we live, Are not conditions we perform, But graces we receive. But raises from the dead; And neither asks the sinner's leave, Nor needs the sinner's aid.
|
Must first renew the tree; We rise, and work the works of God, When wrought upon by thee. From thy blest influence springs; Which plants, and nourishes, and guards, And to perfection brings. Thou all our works hast wrought; And wilt eternal peace ordain For those thy blood hath bought. We has not loved thee now; Possess us quite, thou God of grace, To whom our all we owe! Augustus Toplady
|