Amazing Grace

I must confess this is my favorite hymn of all time. This version is interesting and well done.

Amazing Grace

Not What My Hands Have Done

I Heard the Voice of Jesus Say

I heard the voice of Jesus say, “Come unto Me and rest;
Lay down, thou weary one, lay down Thy head upon My breast.”
I came to Jesus as I was, weary and worn and sad;
I found in Him a resting place, and He has made me glad.


I heard the voice of Jesus say, “Behold, I freely give
The living water; thirsty one, stoop down, and drink, and live.”
I came to Jesus, and I drank of that life giving stream;
My thirst was quenched, my soul revived, and now I live in Him.


I heard the voice of Jesus say, “I am this dark world’s Light;
Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise, and all thy day be bright.”
I looked to Jesus, and I found in Him my Star, my Sun;
And in that light of life I’ll walk, till traveling days are done.

--Horatius Bonar

We Give Immortal Praise by Isaac Watts

We give immortal praise
For God the Father’s love,
For all our comforts here,
And better hopes above:
He sent his own Eternal Son
To die for sins that we had done.


To God the Son belongs
Immortal glory too,
Who bought us with his blood
From everlasting woe:
And now he lives, and now he reigns,
And sees the fruit of all his pains.


To God the Spirit’s name
Immortal worship give,
Whose new-creating power
Makes the dead sinner live:
His work completes the great design,
And fills the soul with joy divine.


Almighty God, to thee
Be endless honors done,
The undivided Three,
And the mysterious One:
Where Reason fails, with all her powers,
There Faith prevails, and Love adores.


Excerpt from The Baptist Psalmody

I Lay My Sins On Jesus

I lay my sins on Jesus,
The spotless Lamb of God;
He bears tbem all and frees us
From the accursed load.
I bring my guilt to Jesus,
To wash my crimson stains,
White in His blood most precious,
Till not a spot remains.


I lay my wants on Jesus;
All fulness dwells in Him:
He heals all my diseases,
He doth my soul redeem.
I lay my griefs on Jesus,
My burdens and my cares;
He from them all releases,
He all my sorrow shares.


I rest my soul on Jesus,
This weary soul of mine;
His right hand me embraces,
I on His breast recline.
I love the name of Jesus,
Immanuel, Christ, the Lord;
Like fragrance on the breezes
His name abroad is poured.


I long to be like Jesus,
Meek, loving, lowly, mild.
I long to be like Jesus,
The Father's holy child.
I long to be with Jesus
Amid the heavenly throng,
To sing with saints His praises,
To learn the angels' song.

--Horatius Bonar

excerted from Ryle's Hymns for the Church on Earth.

When Along Life's Thorny Road

When along life's thorny road
Faints the soul beneath the load,
By its cares and sins oppressed
Finds on earth no peace or rest,-
When the wily Tempter's near
Filling us with doubts and fear,
Jesus, to Thy feet we flee,
Jesus, we will look to Thee.


Thou our Saviour, from the throne
List'nest to Thy people's moan;
Thou the living Head, dost share
Ev'ry pang Thy members bear.
Full of tenderness Thou art;
Thou wilt heal the broken heart:
Full of power; Thine arm shall quell
All the rage and might of hell.


By Thy tears o'er Lazarus shed,
By Thy power to raise the dead,
By Thy meekness under scorn,
By Thy stripes and crown of thorn,
By that rich and precious blood
That hath made our peace wrth God,
Jesus, to Thy feet we flee,
Jesus, we will cling to Thee.


Mighty to redeem and save,
Thou hast overcome the grave;
Thou the bars of death hast riven,
Opened wide the gates of heaven.
Soon in glory Thou shalt come,
Taking Thy poor pilgrims home:
Jesus, then we all shall be,
Ever--ever-- Lord with Thee.

Excerpted from J. C. Ryle's Hymns for the Church on Earth

Tell Me the Old, Old Story

Tell me the old, old story,
Of unseen things above,
Of Jesus and His Glory,
of Jesus and His love.


Tell me the story simply,
As to a little child,
For I am weak and weary,
And helpless and defiled.
Tell me the old, old story,
of Jesus and His love.


Tell me the story slowly,
That I may take it in,--
That wonderful redemption,
God's remedy for sin.
Tell me the story often,
For I forget so soon;
The "early dew" of morning
Has passed away at noon.
Tell me the old, old story, etc.


Tell me the story softly,
With earnest tones and grave;
Remember, I'm the sinner
Whom Jesus came to save!
Tell me the story always,
If you would really be,
In any time of trouble,
A comforter to me.
Tell me the old, old story, etc.


Tell me the same old story,
When you have cause to fear
That this world's empty glory
Is costing me too dear.
Yes, and when that world's glory
Shall dawn upon my soul,
Tell me the old, old story:
"Christ Jesus makes thee whole."
Tell me the old, old story, etc.

Hark the Voice of Jesus Crying

HARK, the voice of Jesus crying-,
"Who will go and work today?
Fields are white and harvest waiting;
Who will bear the sheaves away?"
Loud and strong the Master calleth,
Rich reward He offers thee;
Who will answer, gladly saying,
"Here am I: send me, send me!"


If you cannot cross the ocean,
And the heathen lands explore,
You can find the heathen nearer,
You can help them at your door.
If you cannot give your thousands,
You can give the widow's mite;
And the least you do for Jesus
Will be precious in His sight.


If you cannot speak like angels,
If you cannot preach like Paul,
You can tell the love of Jesus,
You can say, "He died for all."
If you cannot rouse the wicked
With the judgment's dread alarms,
You can lead the little children
To the Saviour's waiting arms.


If you cannot be the watchman
Standing high on Zion's wall,
Pointing out the path to heaven,
Offering life and peace to all,
With your prayers and with your bounties
You can do what heaven demands;-
You can be like faithful Aaron

Holding up the prophet's hands.

Let none hear you idly saying
"There is nothing I can do,"
While the souls of men are dying,
And the Master calls for you.
Take the task He gives you, gladly,
Let His work your pleasure be;
Answer quickly when He calleth,
"Here am I: send me, send me!"

Taken from J. C. Ryle's Hymns for the Church on Earth.

When This Passing World Is Done

When this passing world is done,
When has sunk yon glaring sun,
When we stand with Christ in glory,
Looking o'er life's finished story,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know, --
Not till then, --how much I owe.


When I hear the wicked call
On the rocks and hills to fall,
When I see them start and shrink,
On the fiery deluge brink,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know, --
Not till then, --how much I owe.


When I stand before the throne,
Dress'd in beauty not my own,
When I see Thee as Thou art,
Love Thee with unsinning heart,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know,--
Not till then, --how much I owe.


When the praise of heav'n I hear,
Loud as thunders to the ear,
Loud as many waters' noise,
Sweet as harp's melodious voice,
Then, Lord, shall I fully know,--
Not till then, --how much I owe.


Chosen not for good in me,
Waken'd up from wrath to flee,
Hidden in the Saviour's side,
By the Spirit sanctified,
Teach me, Lord, on earth to show,
By my love how much I owe.


Oft I walk beneath the cloud,
Dark as midnight's gloomy shroud;
But when fear is at the height,
Jesus comes, and all is light.
Blessed Jesus, bid me show
Doubting saints how much I owe.

--Robert Murray M'Cheyne

I Saw the Cross of Jesus

1—I saw the cross of Jesus
When burden'd with my sin ;
I sought the cross of Jesus
To give me peace within :
I brought my sin to Jesus ;
He cleans'd it in His blood ;
And in the cross of Jesus
I found my peace with God.



2—I love the cross of Jesus.
It tells me what I am ;
A vile and guilty creature,
Saved only through the Lamb :
No righteousness, no merit,
No beauty can I plead ;
Yet in the cross I glory,
My title there I read.



3—I clasp the cross of Jesus,
In ev'ry trying hour,
My sure and certain refuge,
My never failing tower.
In every fear and conflict,
I more than conqueror am ;
Living I'm safe, or dying,
Through Christ the risen Lamb.



4—Sweet is the cross of Jesus !
There let my weary heart
Still rest in perfect peace
'Till life itself depart.
And then in strains of glory
I'll sing Thy wond'rous power,
Where sin can never enter,
And death is known no more.

--F. WHITFIELD

Hymns for the Church on Earth, compiled by J. C. Ryle.

Whate'er My God Ordains is Right

Samuel Rodigast (1649-1708)





Whate'er my God ordains is right:

His holy will abideth;

I will be still whate'er He doth,

And follow where He guideth.

He is my God, though dark my road,

He holds me that I shall not fall;

Wherefore to Him I leave it all.




Whate'er my God or-dains is right:

He never will deceive me;

He leads me by the proper path;

I know He will not leave me.

I take, content, what He hath sent;

His hand can turn my griefs away,

And patiently I wait His day.




Whate'er my God ordains is right:

Though now this cup, in drink-ing,

May bitter seem to my faint heart,

I take it all unshrinking.

My God is true; each morn anew

Sweet comfort yet shall fill my heart,

And pain and sorrow shall depart.




Whate'er my God ordains is right:

Here shall my stand be taken;

Though sorrow, need or death be mine,

Yet I am not forsaken.

My Father's care is round me there;

He holds me that I shall not fall;

And so to Him I leave it all.




HT:21st Century Puritanism

Not all the Blood of Beasts

Not all the Blood of Beasts
by Isaac Watts



Not all the blood of beasts
On Jewish altars slain
Could give the guilty conscience peace
Or wash away the stain.


But Christ, the heavenly Lamb,
Takes all our sins away;
A sacrifice of nobler name
And richer blood than they.


My faith would lay her hand
On that dear head of Thine
While like a penitent I stand
And there confess my sin.


My soul looks back to see
The burden Thou didst bear
When hanging on the cursed tree
And knows her guilt was there.


Believing, we rejoice
To see the curse remove;
We bless the Lamb with cheerful voice
And sing His bleeding love.


HT: 21st Century Puritanism

How Sweet the Name of Jesus Sounds

How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
In a believer's ear!
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.


It makes the wounded spirit whole
And calms the troubled breast;
'Tis nourishment to hungry souls,
And to the weary rest.


Jesus! my Savior, Shepherd, Friend,
My Prophet, Priest, and King,
My Lord, my Life, my Way, my End,
Accept the praise I bring.


Weak is the effort of my heart,
And cold my warmest thought;
But when I see Thee as Thou art,
I'll praise Thee as I ought.

(a hymn by John Newton)

Not What My Hands Have Done

Not what my hands have done can save my guilty soul;

Not what my toiling flesh has borne can make my spirit whole.

Not what I feel or do can give me peace with God;

Not all my prayers and sighs and tears can bear my awful load.

Your voice alone, O Lord, can speak to me of grace;

Your power alone, O Son of God, can all my sin erase.

No other work but Yours, no other blood will do;

No strength but that which is divine can bear me safely through.

I praise the Christ of God; I rest on love divine;

And with unfaltering lip and heart I call this Savior mine.

My Lord has saved my life and freely pardon gives;

I love because He first loved me, I live because He lives.

Horatius Bonar, 1861