Sunday Hymn: And Did the Holy and the Just

And did the ho­ly and the just,
The So­ver­eign of the skies,
Stoop down to wretch­ed­ness 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 dy­ing trai­tor’s place,
And suf­fered in his stead;
For man (O mi­ra­cle of grace!),
For man the Sav­ior bled!

Dear Lord, what heav’n­ly won­ders dwell
In Thy aton­ing blood?
By this are sin­ners snatched from hell,
And re­bels brought to God.

Jesus, my soul, ador­ing, bends
To love so full, so free;
And may I hope that love ex­tends
Its sac­red pow­er to me?

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

—Anne Steele

Sunday Hymn: Thou Lovely Source of True Delight

Thou lovely Source of true delight,
Whom I unseen adore!
Unvail thy beauties to my sight,
That I may love thee more.

Thy glory o’er creation shines;—
But in thy sacred word,
I read, in fairer, brighter lines,
My bleeding, dying Lord.

‘Tis here, whene’er my comforts droop,
And sin and sorrow rise,
Thy love, with cheering beams of hope,
My fainting heart supplies.

But ah! too soon the pleasing scene
Is clouded o’er with pain;
My gloomy fears rise dark between,
And I again complain.

Jesus, my Lord, my life, my light!
Oh, come with blissful ray;
Break radiant through the shades of night,
And chase my fears away.

Then shall my soul with rapture trace
The wonders of thy love:
But the full glories of thy face
Are only known above.

—Anne Steele

Sunday Hymn: Come Weary Souls

Come, wea­ry souls with sin dis­tressed,
The Sav­ior of­fers heav’n­ly rest;
The kind, the gra­cious call ob­ey,
And cast your gloomy fears away.

Oppressed with guilt, a pain­ful load,
O come, and spread your woes abroad;
Divine com­pass­ion, migh­ty love,
Will all the pain­ful load re­move.

Here mer­cy’s bound­less ocean flows
To cleanse your guilt and heal your woes;
Pardon, and life, and end­less peace—
How rich the gift! how free the grace!

Lord, we ac­cept with thank­ful heart,
The hope Thy gra­cious words im­part;
We come with trem­bling, but re­joice,
And bless the kind in­vit­ing voice.

Dear Sav­ior, let Thy pow­er­ful love
Confirm our faith, our fears re­move,
And sweet­ly in­flu­ence ev­ery beast,
And guide us to eter­nal rest.

—Anne Steele