John Newton

(24 July 1725 – 21 December 1807 / London, England)

John Newton Poems

121. The Refuge, River, And Rock Of The Church 4/19/2010
122. The Resurrection And The Life 4/19/2010
123. The Rich Man And Lazarus 4/19/2010
124. The Ruler's Daughter Raised 4/19/2010
125. The Trembling Jailer 4/19/2010
126. The True Aaron 4/19/2010
127. The Two Debtors 4/19/2010
128. The Two Malefactors 4/19/2010
129. The Wheat And Tares 4/19/2010
130. The Woman Of Samaria 4/19/2010
131. The Word Quick And Powerful 4/19/2010
132. The World 1/3/2003
133. The Worldling 4/19/2010
134. They Shall Be Mine, Saith The Lord 4/19/2010
135. Time How Short 4/19/2010
136. Time How Swift 4/19/2010
137. To The Afflicted, Tossed With Tempests And Not Comforted 4/19/2010
138. True And False Zeal 5/28/2012
139. Trust Of The Wicked, And The Righteous Compared 4/19/2010
140. Vanity Of Life 4/19/2010
141. Vanity Of The Creature Sanctified 4/19/2010
142. Waiting For Spring 4/19/2010
143. Walking With God 4/19/2010
144. We Were Pharaoh's Bondmen 4/19/2010
145. Weeping Mary 4/19/2010
146. What Shall I Render 4/19/2010
147. What Think Ye Of Christ? 4/19/2010
148. When Hannah Pressed With Grief 4/19/2010
149. Will Ye Also Go Away? 4/19/2010
150. Woman Of Canaan 4/19/2010
151. Zaccheus 4/19/2010
152. Zion, Or The City Of God 4/19/2010
Best Poem of John Newton

Amazing Grace

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound!)
That sav'd a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found;
Was blind, but now I see.

'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears reliev'd;
How precious did that grace appear,
The hour I first believ'd!

Thro' many dangers, toils, and snares,
I have already come;
'Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.

The Lord has promis'd good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.

Yes, when this flesh ...

Read the full of Amazing Grace

On Dreaming

When slumber seals our weary eyes,
The busy fancy wakeful keeps;
The scenes which then before us rise,
Prove something in us never sleeps.

As in another world we seem,
A new creation of our own,
All appears real, though a dream,
And all familiar, though unknown.

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