Then when the angels, the reapers at the ending, Gather the fruitage which our lives have grown, May we with gladness, angel toil attending, Sing of the harvest at the heavenly home. _Refrain._ Bountiful Giver, Thine be the praise, Blessing, and honour, and glory, always.
Now with my weeping would I cleanse my soul, And with my grief would shame my sin away; But tears no virtue have to make me whole, Nor sorrow power to end sin's hateful sway.
But yet the heart in sore distress that sighs, Looks to the Christ His succour to impart; And God receives the pleasing sacrifice, A broken spirit, and a contrite heart.
Nailed to the cross I see my Saviour bleed,-- This is the sacrifice my soul requires; Here is the cleansing, and the power I need, To quell the rising of my vain desires.
Speak to my heart, O Jesus Christ, Who came Fired by Thy love, an offering for sin; And by a love enkindled at that flame, Win me forever from the self within.
O God of love, on bended knee, We, guilty sinners, call on Thee; Now, by the cross that Jesus bore, Extend Thy mercy, we implore.
We have no plea to urge but this, Our own exceeding sinfulness, And all the love to sinners shown Who claim His merits as their own.
Ah, weary with the toil of sin, We seek Thy matchless grace to win; Lord, break the fetters that enslave, And let us know Thy power to save.
Rise on the darkness of the way That leads from night to perfect day, And let the joy that light awakes Possess the soul that sin forsakes.
O Christ, to Thee our praise ascends, Whose love the needy soul befriends; For, by Thy cross our souls are free To love and praise, eternally.
O God, in mercy hear, I lift my cry to Thee, And let Thy gracious help be sent In my perplexity; But Thou art far away, And I am filled with shame, I cannot see Thy blessed face, And fear to name Thy name.
And now a sense of guilt Inspires me with dismay,-- I know that none on earth can take That awful load away; 'Tis mine, the sin, 'tis mine, And mine the guilt to bear, The awful burden of the blame, The cloud of dark despair.
Is there no balm to heal? No pity that can bless?-- O God, Who art so far away, Be near in my distress; And heed the tears I shed, And hear my woeful cry; And since there is no hand to help, Come Thou in mercy nigh.
