John Newton Poems

Lord, thou hast won, at length I yield,
My heart, by mighty grace compelled,
Surrenders all to thee;
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From pole to pole let others roam,
And search in vain for bliss;
My soul is satisfied at home,
The Lord my portion is.
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What a mournful life is mine,
Fill with crosses, pains and cares!
Every work defiled with sin,
Every step beset with snares!
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See the gloomy gath'ring cloud
Hanging o'er a sinful land!
Sure the Lord proclaims aloud,
Times of trouble are at hand:
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How David, when by sin deceived,
From bad to worse went on!
For when the Holy Spirit's grieved,
Our strength and guard are gone.
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As once for Jonah, so the Lord
To soothe and cheer my mournful hours,
Prepared for me a pleasing gourd,
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The church a garden is
In which believers stand,
Like ornamental trees
Planted by God's own hand:
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What think you of Christ? is the test
To try both your state and your scheme;
You cannot be right in the rest,
Unless you think rightly of him.
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Beside the gospel pool
Appointed for the poor;
From year to year, my helpless soul
Has waited for a cure.
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When Israel's tribes were parch'd with thirst,
Forth from the rock the waters burst;
And all their future journey through
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