By John Newton
It makes the wounded spirit whole, And calms the troubled breast; ‘Tis manna to the hungry soul, And to the weary rest.
Dear Name! the Rock on which I build My Shield and Hiding-place; My never-failing Treasury fill’d With boundless stores of grace.
By Thee my prayers acceptance gain, Although with sin defiled; Satan accuses me in vain, And I am own’d a child.
Jesus! my Shepherd, Husband, 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.
Till then I would Thy love proclaim With every fleeting breath; And may the music of Thy Name Refresh my soul in death!