Blest Is the Man, Supremely Blest

Blest is the man

su­preme­ly blest

Whose wick­ed­ness is all for­giv’n

Who finds in Je­su’s wounds his rest

And sees the smil­ing face of Heav’n.

The guilt and pow­er of sin is gone

From him that doth in Christ be­lieve

It hid­den lies

and still kept down

And bur­ied in his Sav­ior’s grave.

Blest is the man

to whom his Lord

No more im­putes ini­qui­ty

Whose Spir­it is by grace re­stored

From all the guile of Sa­tan free;

Free from de­sign

or self­ish aim

Harmless

and pure

and un­de­filed

A sim­ple fol­low­er of the Lamb

And harm­less as a new-born child.

But while thro’ pride I held my tongue

Nor owned my help­less un­be­lief

My bones were wast­ed all day long

My strength con­sumed with pin­ing grief.

Crushed by Thine an­ger’s hea­vy hand

Burnt up as dry and bar­ren ground

I ev­er of my sin com­plained

But no re­lief or mer­cy found.

Resolved at last

to God I cried

My sins I will at large con­fess

My shame I will no long­er hide

My depth of des­per­ate wick­ed­ness.

All will I own un­to my Lord

Without re­serve or cloak­ing art

I said; and felt the par­don­ing word

Thy mer­cy spoke it to my heart.

For this shall ev­ery child of God

Thy pow’r and faith­ful love de­clare

And claim the grace on all be­stowed

Who make to Thee their time­ly pray­er;

But when the floods of judg­ment rise

And sweep their guil­ty souls away

Remains for sin no sac­ri­fice;

For end­ed is their gra­cious day.

Thou art my hid­ing place; in Thee

I rest se­cure from sin and hell

Safe in the love that ran­somed me

And shel­tered in Thy wounds I dwell.

Still shall Thy grace to me abound

The count­less won­ders of Thy grace

I still shall tell to all around

And sing my great de­liv­er­er’s praise.

I will in­struct the child­like heart

(My Teach­er saith for ev­er nigh).

“Nor let thee from My paths de­part

But guide thee with My gra­cious eye.

If thou My gra­cious look ob­ey

And yield My per­fect will to prove

Nor cast My ea­sy yoke away

Or stop thine ears against My love.

Whoe’er like horse or mule with­stand

And fol­low their own stiff necked will

I bruise be­neath My weigh­ty hand

And force them all My plagues to feel.

But they that dare in Me con­fide

Shall on­ly know My par­don­ing grace

My mer­cy’s arms on ev­ery side

Shall ev­ery faith­ful soul em­brace.

Ye faith­ful souls

re­joice in Him

Whose arms are still your sure de­fense;

Your Lord is migh­ty to re­deem:

Believe

and who shall pluck you thence?

All ye of up­right heart

be glad

For Je­sus is your God and friend

He keeps those who on Him are stayed

And He shall keep them to the end.