The Creatures In The Lord's Hands
The water stood like walls of brass,
To let the sons of Israel pass;
And from the rock in rivers burst
At Moses' prayer to quench their thirst.
The fire restrained by God's commands,
Could only burn his people's bands;
Too faint, when he was with them there,
To singe their garments or their hair.
At Daniel's feet the lions lay
Like harmless lambs, nor touched their prey;
And ravens, which on carrion fed,
Procured Elijah flesh and bread.
Thus creatures only can fulfill
Their great Creator's holy will;
And when his servants need their aid,
His purposes must be obeyed.
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poem by John Newton
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Adam
On man, in his own image made,
How much did GOD bestow?
The whole creation homage paid,
And owned him LORD, below!
He dwelt in Eden's garden, stored
With sweets for every sense;
And there with his descending LORD
He walked in confidence.
But O! by sin how quickly changed!
His honour forfeited,
His heart, from God and truth, estranged,
His conscience filled with dread!
Now from his Maker's voice he flees,
Which was before his joy:
And thinks to hide, amidst the trees,
From an All-seeing eye.
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poem by John Newton
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The Borrowed Axe
The prophets sons, in time of old,
Though to appearance poor;
Were rich without possessing gold,
And honoured, though obscure.
In peace their daily bread they eat,
By honest labor earned;
While daily at Elisha's feet,
They grace and wisdom learned.
The prophet's presence cheered their toil,
They watched the words he spoke;
Whether they turned the furrowed soil,
Or felled the spreading oak.
Once as they listened to his theme,
Their conference was stopped;
For one beneath the yielding stream,
A borrowed axe had dropped.
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poem by John Newton
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Time How Short
Time, with an unwearied hand,
Pushes round the seasons past,
And in life's frail glass, the sand
Sinks apace, not long to last:
Many, well as you or I,
Who last year assembled thus;
In their silent graves now lie,
Graves will open soon for us!
Daily sin, and care, and strife,
While the Lord prolongs our breath,
Make it but a dying life,
Or a kind of living death:
Wretched they, and most forlorn,
Who no better portion know;
Better ne'er to have been born,
Than to have our all below.
When constrained to go alone,
Leaving all you love behind;
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poem by John Newton
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David's Fall
How David, when by sin deceived,
From bad to worse went on!
For when the Holy Spirit's grieved,
Our strength and guard are gone.
His eye on Bathsheba once fixed,
With poison filled his soul;
He ventured on adult'ry next,
And murder crowned the whole.
So from a spark of fire at first,
That has not been descried;
A dreadful flame has often burst,
And ravaged far and wide.
When sin deceives it hardens too,
For though he vainly fought
To hide his crimes from public view,
Of God he little thought.
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poem by John Newton
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Woman Of Canaan
Prayer an answer will obtain,
Though the Lord awhile delay;
None shall seek his face in vain,
None be empty sent away.
When the woman came from Tyre,
And for help to Jesus sought;
Though he granted her desire,
Yet at first he answered not.
Could she guess at his intent,
When he to his follow'rs said,
I to Israel's sheep am sent,
Dogs must not have children's bread.
She was not of Israel's seed,
But of Canaan's wretched race;
Thought herself a dog indeed;
Was not this a hopeless case?
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poem by John Newton
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The Book Of Creation
The book of nature open lies,
With much instruction stored;
But till the Lord anoints our eyes
We cannot read a word.
Philosophers have pored in vain,
And guessed, from age to age;
For reason's eye could ne'er attain
To understand a page.
Though to each star they give a name,
Its size and motions teach;
The truths which all the stars proclaim,
Their wisdom cannot reach.
With skill to measure earth and sea;
And weigh the subtle air;
They cannot, Lord, discover thee
Though present everywhere.
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poem by John Newton
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The Good That I Would I Do Not
I would, but cannot sing,
Guilt has untuned my voice;
The serpent sin's envenomed sting
Has poisoned all my joys.
I know the Lord is nigh,
And would, but cannot, pray;
For Satan meets me when I try,
And frights my soul away.
I would but can't repent
Though I endeavor oft;
This stony heart can ne'er relent
Till Jesus make it soft.
I would but cannot love,
Though wooed by love divine;
No arguments have pow'r to move
A soul so base as mine.
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poem by John Newton
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The Trembling Jailer
A Believer, free from care,
May in chains, or dungeons, sing,
If the Lord be with him there;
And he happier than a king:
Paul and Silas thus confined,
Though their backs were torn by whips,
Yet possessing peace of mind,
Sung his praise wish joyful lips.
Suddenly the prison shook,
Open flew the iron doors;
And the jailer, terror-struck,
Now his captives' help implores:
Trembling at their feet he fell,
Tell me, Sirs, what must I do
To be saved from guilt and hell?
None can tell me this but you.
Look to Jesus, they replied,
If on Him thou canst believe;
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poem by John Newton
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Humbled And Silenced By Mercy
Once perishing in blood I lay,
Creatures no help could give,
But Jesus passed me in the way,
He saw, and bid me live.
Though Satan still his rule maintained,
And all his arts employed;
That mighty Word his rage restrained,
I could not be destroyed.
At length the time of love arrived
When I my Lord should know,
Then Satan, of his pow'r deprived,
Was forced to let me go.
O can I e'er that day forget
When Jesus kindly spoke!
Poor soul, my blood has paid thy debt,
And now I break thy yoke.
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poem by John Newton
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