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Formed for thyself, and turned to thee,
Thy praises, Lord , I show;
No more, with sacrilegious pride,
I rob thee of thy due.
Divested of my fancied plumes,
I throw me at thy feet;
Nor, as a debt, thy favour claim,
But, as an alms, intreat.
Repentance, holiness, and faith.
By which to thee we live,
Are not conditions we perform,
But graces we receive.
Thy Spirit does not offer life,
But raises from the dead;
And neither asks the sinner's leave,
Nor needs the sinner's aid.
Thy power, before the fruit is good,
Must first renew the tree;
We rise, and work the works of God,
When wrought upon by thee.
Each grace of our celestial birth
From thy blest influence springs;
Which plants, and nourishes, and guards,
And to perfection brings.
Gardens of thine, enclosed and sealed,
Thou all our works hast wrought;
And wilt eternal peace ordain
For those thy blood hath bought.
Had not thy love laid hold on us,
We has not loved thee now;
Possess us quite, thou God of grace,
To whom our all we owe!
Augustus Montague Toplady
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: birth, faith, pride, power, work, tree, peace, god, rose, spring
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