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Free Grace

And can it be, that I should gain

An interest in the Saviour’s blood?

Died He for me?—who caused 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! the 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 inquire 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!

Long my imprison’d spirit lay,

Fast bound in sin and nature’s night:

Thine eye diffused a quickening ray;

I woke; the dungeon flamed with light;

My chains fell off, my heart was free,

I rose, went forth, and follow’d Thee.

Still the small inward voice I hear,

That whispers all my sins forgiven;

Still the atoning blood is near,

That quench’d the wrath of hostile Heaven:

I feel the life His wounds impart;

I feel my Saviour in my heart.

No condemnation now I dread,

Jesus, and all in Him, is mine:

Alive in Him, my Living Head,

And clothed in righteousness Divine,

Bold I approach the eternal throne,

And claim the crown, through Christ, my own.


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