And Still New Beauties May We See

Father of Mercies, In Thy Word
Anne Steele, 1716-1778

Father of mercies, in Thy Word
What endless glory shines!
Forever be Thy name adored
For these celestial lines.

Here may the wretched sons of want
Exhaustless riches find;
Riches above what earth can grant,
And lasting as the mind.

Here the fair tree of knowledge grows
And yields a free repast;
And richer fruits than nature shows
Invite the longing taste.

Amidst these gloomy wilds below,
When dark and sad we stray,
Here beams of Heaven relieve our woe,
And guide to endless day.

Here springs of consolation rise
To cheer the fainting mind,
And thirsty souls receive supplies,
And sweet refreshment find.

Here the Redeemer’s welcome voice
Spreads heavenly peace around
And life and everlasting joys
Attend the blissful sound.

Oh, may these hallowed pages be
Our joy by day and night,
And still new beauties may we see,
And still increasing light.

Divine Instructor, gracious Lord,
O grant our fervent prayer,
Teach us to love Thy sacred Word,
And view the Savior there.

The Subject of Each Thankful Song

To Jesus, Our Victorious Lord
Anne Steele, 1717-1778

To Jesus, our victorious Lord,
The praises of our lives belong;
Forever be His name adored,
The subject of each thankful song.

Enslaved by sin, beset by foes,
Undone and perishing, we lay;
His pity melted o'er our woes,
To save the trembling, dying prey.

He fought, he conquered though He fell,
While with His last expiring breath,
He triumphed o'er the pow'rs of hell,
And by His dying, vanquished death.

Though still reviving foes arise,
Temptations, sins, and doubts appear,
And pain our hearts, and fill our eyes
With many a groan, and many a tear;

Still may we fight, and still prevail,
In our Almighty Captain's name;
His strength, whene'er our spirits fail,
Can all our active pow'rs inflame. 

An All Sufficient Ransom Paid

Enslaved by Sin and Bound in Chains
Anne Steele, 1716-1778

Enslaved by sin and bound in chains,
Beneath its dreadful tyrant sway,
And doomed to everlasting pains,
We wretched, guilty captives lay.

Nor gold nor gems could buy our peace,
Nor all the world’s collected store
Suffice to purchase our release;
A thousand worlds were all too poor.

Jesus, the Lord, the mighty God,
An all sufficient ransom paid.
O matchless price! His precious blood
For vile, rebellious traitors shed.

Jesus the sacrifice became
To rescue guilty souls from hell;
The spotless, bleeding, dying Lamb
Beneath avenging Justice fell.

Amazing goodness! Love divine!
Oh, may our grateful hearts adore
The matchless grace nor yield to sin
Nor wear its cruel fetters more!

Oh, Miracle of Grace

And Did the Holy and the Just
Anne Steele, 1717-1778

And did the Holy and the Just,
The Sovereign of the skies,
Stoop down to man's estate and dust
That guilty worms might rise?

Yes, the Redeemer left His throne,
His radiant throne on high—
Surprising mercy, love unknown—
To suffer, bleed, and die.

He took the guilty culprit's place
And suffered in his stead;
For man—oh, miracle of grace—
For man the Saviour bled.

Dear Lord, what heavenly wonders dwell
In Thy atoning blood!
By this are sinners saved from hell,
And rebels brought to God.

What glad return can I impart,
For favors so divine?
O take my all, this worthless heart,
And make it wholly Thine.  

Is Not Thy Mercy Still the Same?

My God, My Father, Blissful Name
Anne Steele, 1716-1778

My God, my Father, blissful name,
Oh may I call Thee mine?
May I with sweet assurance claim
A portion so divine?

This only can my fears control,
And bid my sorrows fly;
What harm can ever reach my soul
Beneath my Father’s eye?

 

Whate’er Thy providence denies,
I calmly would resign;
For Thou art just, and good, and wise.
O bend my will to Thine.

Whate’er Thy sacred will ordains,
O give me strength to bear;
And let me know my Father reigns,
And trust His tender care.

If pain and sickness rend this frame,
And life almost depart,
Is not Thy mercy still the same
To cheer my drooping heart?

If cares and sorrows me surround,
Their power why should I fear?
My inward peace they cannot wound
If Thou, my God, art near.

Thy Mercy Seat Is Open Still

Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul
Anne Steele, 1716-1778

Dear refuge of my weary soul,
On Thee, when sorrows rise,
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies.

To Thee I tell each rising grief,
For Thou alone canst heal;
Thy Word can bring a sweet relief,
For every pain I feel.

But oh! when gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call Thee mine;
The springs of comfort seem to fail,
And all my hopes decline.

Yet gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust;
And still my soul would cleave to Thee,
Though prostrate in the dust.

Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face,
And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sovereign grace,
Be deaf when I complain?

No; still the ear of sovereign grace
Attends the mourner's prayer;
Oh may I ever find access,
To breathe my sorrows there!

Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat;
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet.

Ye Glittering Toys of Earth, Adieu

Ye Glittering Toys of Earth, Adieu
Anne Steele, 1716-1778

Ye glittering toys of earth, adieu,
A nobler choice be mine;
A regal prize attracts my view,
A treasure all divine;
Begone unworthy of my cares,
Ye spacious baits of sense;
Inestimable worth appears
The pearl of price immense.

Jesus, to multitudes unknown—
O name divinely sweet!
Jesus, in Thee, in Thee alone,
Wealth, honor, pleasure meet!
Should both the Indies at my call
Their boasted stores resign:
With joy I would renounce them all,
For leave to call Thee mine.

Should earth’s vain treasures all depart,
Of this dear gift possessed,
I’d clasp it to my joyful heart,
And be forever blest:
Dear Sovereign of my soul’s desire,
Thy love is bliss divine!
Accept the wish that love inspires,
And bid me call Thee mine.

Behold A Never-Failing Store

Lord, We Adore Thy Boundless Grace
Anne Steele, 1717-1778

Lord, we adore Thy boundless grace,
The heights and depths unknown,
Of pardon, life, and joy, and peace,
In Thy beloved Son.

O wondrous gifts of love divine,
Dear Source of every good;
Jesus, in Thee what glories shine!
How rich Thy flowing blood!

Come, all ye pining, hungry poor,
The Saviour’s bounty taste;
Behold a never-failing store
For every willing guest.

Here shall your numerous wants receive
A free, a full supply;
He has unmeasured bliss to give,
And joys that never die.

Can the Ear of Sovereign Grace Be Deaf When I Complain?

Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul
Anne Steele, 1716-1778

Dear refuge of my weary soul,
On Thee, when sorrows rise,
On Thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies.

To Thee I tell each rising grief,
For Thou alone canst heal;
Thy Word can bring a sweet relief,
For every pain I feel.

But oh! when gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call Thee mine;
The springs of comfort seem to fail,
And all my hopes decline.

Yet gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust;
And still my soul would cleave to Thee,
Though prostrate in the dust.

Hast Thou not bid me seek Thy face,
And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sovereign grace,
Be deaf when I complain?

No; still the ear of sovereign grace
Attends the mourner's prayer;
Oh may I ever find access,
To breathe my sorrows there!

Thy mercy seat is open still,
Here let my soul retreat;
With humble hope attend Thy will,
And wait beneath Thy feet.

Let Me Rove No More

How Oft, Alas, This Wretched Heart
Anne Steele, 1716-1778

How oft, alas, this wretched heart
Has wandered from the Lord,
How oft my roving thoughts depart,
Forgetful of His Word.

Yet sov'reign mercy calls, "Return!"
Dear Lord, and may I come?
My vile ingratitude I mourn;
O take the wand'rer home.

And canst Thou, wilt Thou yet forgive,
And bid my crimes remove?
And shall a pardoned rebel live,
To speak Thy wondrous love?

Almighty grace, thy healing power
How glorious, how divine!
That can to life and bliss restore
So vile a heart as mine.

Thy pardoning love, so free, so sweet,
Dear Savior, I adore;
O keep me at Thy sacred feet,
And let me rove no more.

'Tis Only This Dear Sacred Flood

Deep Are the Wounds Which Sin Has Made
Anne Steele, 1716-1778

Deep are the wounds which sin has made;
Where shall the sinner find a cure?
In vain, alas! is human aid;
The work exceeds all human power.

Sin, like a raging fever, reigns,
With fatal strength in every part;
The dire contagion fills the veins,
And spreads the poison to the heart.

And can no sovereign balm be found?
And is no kind physician nigh,
To ease the pain and heal the wound,
E’re life and hope forever fly?

There is a great Physician near;
Look up, O fainting soul, and live.
See, in His heavenly smiles appear
Such ease as nature cannot give.

See, in the Savior's precious blood,
Life, health, and bliss abundant flow!
'Tis only this dear sacred flood
Can ease thy pain and heal thy woe.