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H. Gifford

O mighty GOD, Which for us men

Didst suffer on the Cross

The painful pangs of bitter death,

To save our souls from loss,

I yield Thee here most hearty thanks,

In that Thou dost vouchsafe,

Of me most vile and sinful wretch,

So great regard to have.


Alas, none ever had more cause

To magnify Thy name,

Than I, to whom Thy mercies shew'd

Do witness well the same.

So many brunts4242brunts, assaults of fretting foes

Who ever could withstand,

If Thou had'st not protected me,

With Thy most holy hand?

A thousand times in shameful sort

My sinful life had ended,

If by Thy gracious goodness, LORD,

I had not been defended.

In stinking pools of filthy vice

So deeply was I drown'd,

That none there was but Thee alone,

To set my foot on ground.

When as the fiend had led my soul

E'en to the gates of hell,

Thou call'dst me back, and dost me choose

In heaven with Thee to dwell:--

Let furies now fret on their fill,

Let Satan rage, and roar,

As long as Thou art on my side,

What need I care for more?

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