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Not what my hands
have done
can save my guilty
soul;
not what my
toiling flesh has
borne
can make my spirit
whole.
Not what I feel or
do
can give me peace
with God;
not all my prayers
and sighs and
tears
can bear my awful
load.
Thy work alone, O
Christ,
can ease this
weight of sin;
thy blood alone, O
Lamb of God,
can give me peace
within.
Thy love to me, O
God,
not mine, O Lord
to thee,
can rid me of this
dark unrest,
and set my spirit
free.
Thy grace alone, O
God,
to me can pardon
speak;
thy pow’r alone, O
Son of God,
can this sore
bondage break.
No other work,
save thine,
no other blood
will do;
no strength, save
that which is
divine,
can bear me safely
through.
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I bless the Christ
of God;
I rest on love
divine;
and with
unfelt’ring lip
and heart,
I call this Savior
mine.
This cross dispels
each doubt;
I bury in his tomb
each thought of
unbelief and fear,
each ling’ring
shade of gloom.
I praise the God
of grace;
I trust his truth
and might;
he calls me his, I
call him mine,
my God, my joy, my
light.
‘Tis he who saveth
me,
and freely pardon
gives;
I love because he
loveth me,
I live because he
lives. |
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