Poem XVII
Augustus Montague Toplady
O may I never rest
Till I find rest in thee;
'Till of my pardon here possess'd
I feel thy love to me!
Unseal my darken'd eyes,
My fetter'd feet unbind,
The lame shall, when thou say'st “Arise,”
Run swifter than the hind.
O draw the alien near,
Bend the obdurate neck,
O melt the flint into a tear,
And teach the dumb to speak:
Turn not thy face away,
Thy look can make me clean;
Me in thy wedding robe array,
And cover all my sin.
Tell me, my God, for whom
Thy precious blood was shed;
For sinners! Lord, as such I come,
For such the Saviour bled:
Then raise a fallen wretch,
Display thy grace in me!
I am not out of mercy's reach,
Nor too far gone for thee.
Thou quickly wilt forgive,
My Lord will not delay;
Jesus, to thee the time I leave,
And wait the accepted day:
I now rejoice in hope
That I shall be made clean:
Thy grace shall surely lift me up
Above the reach of sin.
Hast thou not died for me,
And call'd me from below?
O help me to lay hold on thee,
And ne'er to let thee go!
Though on the billows toss'd,
My Saviour I'll pursue:
Awhile submit to bear his cross,
Then share his glory too.