Site Meter
|The Thirsty Theologian| |Sola Gratia| |Sola Fide| |Solus Christus| |Sola Scriptura| |Soli Deo Gloria| |Semper Reformanda|
|The Thirsty Theologian| |Sola Gratia| |Sola Fide| |Solus Christus| |Sola Scriptura| |Soli Deo Gloria| |Semper Reformanda|

Previous · Home · Next

Lord’s Day 47, 2017

I was glad when they said to me, “Let us go to the house of the Lord.”


For while we were still helpless, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will hardly die for a righteous man; though perhaps for the good man someone would dare even to die. But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us. Much more then, having now been justified by His blood, we shall be saved from the wrath of God through Him. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son, much more, having been reconciled, we shall be saved by His life. And not only this, but we also exult in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received the reconciliation.

—Romans 5:6–11

Redeeming Love.
Anne Steele (1717–1778)



Come, heav’nly love, inspire my song
With thy immortal flame,
And teach my heart, and teach my tongue
The Saviour’s lovely name.


The Saviour! O what endless charms
Dwell in the blissful sound!
Its influence ev’ry fear disarms,
And spreads sweet comfort round.


Here pardon, life, and joys divine
In rich effusion flow,
For guilty rebels lost in sin,
And doom’d to endless woe.


In our first parents’ crime we fell;
Our blood, our vital breath
Deep ting’d with all the seeds of ill,
Sad heirs to sin and death.


Black o’er our wrath-devoted heads
Avenging justice frown’d;
While hell disclos’d her deepest shades,
And horrors rose around.


Wrapp’d in the gloom of dark despair,
We helpless, hopeless lay:
But sov’reign mercy reach’d us there,
And smil’d despair away.


God’s only son, (stupendous grace!)
Forsook his throne above;
And swift to save our wretched race,
He flew on wings of love.


Th’ almighty former of the skies
Stoop’d to our vile abode;
While angels view’d with wond’ring eyes,
And hail’d th’ incarnate God.


The God in heav’nly strains they sung,
Array’d in human clay:
Mysterious love! what angel tongue
Thy wonders can display?


Mysterious love, in ev’ry scene,
Through all his life appears:
His spotless life expos’d to pain,
And miseries and tears.


What blessings on a thankless race
His bounteous hand bestow’d!
And from his tongue what wond’rous grace,
What rich instruction flow’d!


The dumb, the deaf, the lame, the blind
Confess’d his healing pow’r;
Disease and death their prey resign’d,
And grief complain’d no more.


Infernal legions trembling fled,
Aw’d by his pow’rful word:
And winds and seas his voice obey’d,
And own’d their sov’reign Lord.


But man, vile man, his love abus’d,
Blind to the noblest good;
Blasphem’d his pow’r, his word refus’d,
And sought his sacred blood.


Still his unwearied love pursued
Salvation’s glorious plan;
And firm th’ approaching horrors view’d,
Deserv’d by guilty man.


What pain, what soul-oppressing pain,
The great Redeemer bore;
While bloody sweat, like drops of rain,
Distill’d from ev’ry pore!


And ere the dreadful storm descends
Full on his guiltless head,
See him by his familiar friends
Deserted and betray’d!


While ruffian bands the Lord surround,
Relentless, murd’rous foes;
Meek, as a lamb for slaughter bound,
The patient suff’rer goes.


Arraign’d at Pilate’s impious bar,
(Unparallel’d disgrace!)
See spotless innocence appear
In guilt’s detested place!


When perj’ry fails to stain his name,
The mob’s envenom’d breath
Extorts his sentence, “Publick shame
And painful lingering death.”


Patient, the cruel scourge he bore:
The innocent, the kind!
Then to the rabble’s lawless pow’r
And rudest taunts consign’d.


With thorns they crown that awful brow,
Whose frown can shake the globe;
And on their king in scorn bestow
The reed and purple robe.


Ah!—see, the fatal cross appears,
Heart-wounding, dreadful scene!
His sacred flesh rude iron tears,
With agonizing pain.


Expos’d with thieves, to publick view—
Could nature bear the sight?
The blushing sun his beams withdrew,
And wrapt the globe in night!


Then, Oh! what loads of wrath unknown
The glorious suff’rer felt;
For crimes unnumber’d to atone,
To expiate mortal guilt!


The Father’s blissful smile withdrawn,
In that tremendous hour;
Yet still the God sustain’d the man
With his almighty pow’r.


“’Tis finish’d,” now aloud he cries,
“No more the law requires:”
And now, (amazing sacrifice!)
The Lord of life expires.


Earth’s firm foundation felt the shock,
With universal dread;
Trembled the mountain, rent the rock,
And wak’d the sleeping dead!


Now breathless in the silent tomb,
His sacred body lies:
Thither his lov’d disciples come,
With sorrow-streaming eyes.


But see, the promis’d morn appear!
Their joy revives again;
The Saviour lives: adieu to fear,
To ev’ry anxious pain.


His kindest words their doubts remove,
Confirm their wav’ring faith;
He bids them teach the world his love,
Salvation by his death.


Triumphant he ascends on high,
The glorious work complete;
Sin, death, and hell, low vanquish’d lie
Beneath his awful feet.


There with eternal glory crown’d,
The Lord, the conqueror, reigns;
His praise the heav’nly choirs resound,
In their immortal strains.


Amid the splendors of his throne,
Unchanging love appears;
The names he purchas’d for his own,
Still on his heart he bears.


Still with prevailing pow’r he pleads
Their cause for whom he died;
His spirit’s sacred influence sheds,
Their comforter and guide.


For them, reserves a radiant crown,
Bought with his dying blood;
And worlds of light, and joys unknown,
Forever near their God.


O the rich depths of love divine!
Of bliss, a boundless store:
Dear Saviour, let me call thee mine;
I cannot wish for more.


I yield, to thy dear conqu’ring arms
I yield my captive soul:
O let thy all-subduing charms
My inmost pow’rs controul!


On thee alone my hope relies;
Beneath thy cross I fall,
My Lord, my life, my sacrifice,
My Saviour, and my all.

The Works of Mrs. Anne Steele (Munroe, Francis, and Parker, 1808).

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

Please don’t miss worshiping with your local congregation
if you can possibly help it.
But if you’re in need of a good sermon, try these.

Posted 2017·11·19 by David Kjos
Share this post: Buffer
Email Print
Posted in:

← Previous · Home · Next →

Who Is Jesus?

The Gospel
What It Means to Be a Christian

Norma Normata
What I Believe

Westminster Bookstore

Comments on this post are closed. If you have a question or comment concerning this post, feel free to email me.