The Joy Of The Lord Is Your Strength
Joy is a fruit that will not grow
In nature's barren foil;
All we can boast, till Christ we know,
Is vanity and toil.
But where the Lord has planted grace;
And made his glories known;
There fruits of heavenly joy and peace
Are found, and there alone.
A bleeding Saviour seen by faith,
A sense of pard'ning love;
A hope that triumphs over death,
Give joys like those above.
To take a glimpse within the veil,
To know that God is mine;
Are springs of joy that never fail,
Unspeakably divine!
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poem by John Newton
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They Shall Be Mine, Saith The Lord
When sinners utter boasting words,
And glory in their shame;
The Lord, well-pleased, an ear affords
To those who fear his name.
They often meet to seek his face,
And what they do, or say,
Is noted in his book of grace
Against another day.
For they, by faith, a day descry,
And joyfully expect,
When he, descending from the sky,
His jewels will collect.
Unnoticed now, because unknown,
A poor and suff'ring few;
He comes to claim them for his own,
And bring them forth to view.
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poem by John Newton
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The Lord Is My Portion
From pole to pole let others roam,
And search in vain for bliss;
My soul is satisfied at home,
The Lord my portion is.
Jesus, who on his glorious throne
Rules heav'n and earth and sea;
Is pleased to claim me for his own,
And give himself to me.
His person fixes all my love,
His blood removes my fear;
And while he pleads for me above,
His arm preserves me here.
His word of promise is my food,
His Spirit is my guide;
Thus daily is my strength renewed
And all my wants supplied.
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poem by John Newton
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Bartimaeus
Mercy, O thou Son of David!
Thus blind Bartimaeus prayed;
Others by thy word are saved,
Now to me afford thine aid:
Many for his crying chid him,
But he called the louder still;
Till the gracious Saviour bid him
Come, and ask me what you will.
Money was not what he wanted,
Though by begging used to live;
But he asked, and Jesus granted
Alms, which none but he could give:
Lord remove this grievous blindness,
Let my eyes behold the day;
Strait he saw, and won by kindness,
Followed Jesus in the way.
O! methinks I hear him praising,
Publishing to all around;
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poem by John Newton
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Sampson's Lion
The lion that on Sampson roared,
And thirsted for his blood;
With honey afterwards was stored,
And furnished him with food.
Believers, as they pace along,
With many lions meet;
But gather sweetness from the strong,
And from the eater, meat.
The lions rage and roar in vain,
For Jesus is their shield;
Their losses prove a certain gain,
Their troubles comfort yield.
The world and Satan join their strength,
To fill their souls with fears;
But crops of joy they reap at length,
From what they sow in tears.
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poem by John Newton
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A Sick Soul
Physician of my sin-sick soul,
To thee I bring my case;
My raging malady control,
And heal me by thy grace.
Pity the anguish I endure,
See how I mourn and pine;
For never can I hope a cure
From any hand but thine.
I would disclose my whole complaint,
But where shall I begin?
No words of mine can fully paint
That worst distemper, sin.
It lies not in a single part,
But through my frame is spread;
A burning fever in my heart,
A palsy in my head.
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poem by John Newton
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Philadelphia
Thus saith the holy One, and true,
To his beloved faithful few;
Of heav'n and hell I hold the keys,
To shut, or open, as I please.
I know thy works, and I approve,
Though small thy strength, sincere thy love;
Go on, my word and name to own,
For none shall rob thee of thy crown.
Before thee see my mercy's door
Stands open wide to shut no more;
Fear not temptation's fiery day,
For I will be thy strength and stay.
Thou hast my promise, hold it fast,
The trying hour will soon be past;
Rejoice, for lo! I quickly come,
To take thee to my heav'nly home.
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poem by John Newton
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Ephesus
Thus saith the Lord to Ephesus,
And thus he speaks to some of us;
Amidst my churches, lo, I stand,
And hold the pastors in my hand.
Thy works, to me, are fully known,
Thy patience, and thy toil, I own;
Thy views of gospel truth are clear,
Nor canst thou other doctrine bear.
Yet I must blame while I approve,
Where is thy first, thy fervent love?
Dost thou forget my love to thee,
That thine is grown so faint to me?
Recall to mind the happy days
When thou wast filled with joy and praise;
Repent, thy former works renew,
Then I'll restore thy comforts too.
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poem by John Newton
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Will Ye Also Go Away?
When any turn from Zion's way,
(Alas! what numbers do!)
Methinks I hear my Saviour say,
Wilt thou forsake me too?
Ah Lord! with such a heart as mine,
Unless thou hold me fast;
I feel I must, I shall decline,
And prove like them at last.
Yet thou alone hast pow'r, I know,
To save a wretch like me;
To whom, or whither, could I go,
If I should turn from thee?
Beyond a doubt I rest assured
Thou art the Christ of God;
Who hast eternal life secured
By promise and by blood.
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poem by John Newton
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The Word Quick And Powerful
The word of Christ, our Lord,
With whom we have to do;
Is sharper than a two-edged sword,
To pierce the sinner through.
Swift as the lightnings blaze
When aweful thunders roll,
It fills the conscience with amaze,
And penetrates the soul.
No heart can he concealed
From his all-piercing eyes;
Each thought and purpose stands revealed,
Naked, without disguise.
He sees his peoples' fears,
He notes their mournful cry;
He counts their sighs and falling tears,
And helps them from on high.
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poem by John Newton
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