John Newton 8,8,8,8 Is this thy kindness to thy friend. Poor, weak, and worthless though I am, I have a rich almighty friend; Jesus, the Savior, is his name, He freely loves, and without end. He ransomed me from hell with blood, And by his pow'r my foes controlled; He found me, wand'ring far from God, And brought me to his chosen fold. He cheers my heart, my wants supplies, And says that I shall shortly be Enthroned with him above the skies, O! what a friend is CHRIST to me. But ah! I my inmost spirit mourns, And well my eyes with tears may swim, To think of my perverse returns; I've been a faithless friend to him. Often my gracious Friend I grieve, Neglect, distrust, and disobey, And often Satan's lies believe, Sooner than all my Friend can say. He bids me always freely come, And promises whate'er I ask: But I am straitened, cold and dumb, And count my privilege a task. Before the world that hates his course, My treach'rous heart has throbbed with shame; Loth to forego the worlds applause, I hardly dare avow his name. Sure were not I most vile and base, I could not thus my friend requite! And were not he the God of grace, He'd frown and spurn me from his sight. |