Sunday Hymn: Safely Through Another Week

Safely through ano­ther week
God has brought us on our way;
Let us now a bless­ing seek,
Waiting in His courts today;
Day of all the week the best,
Emblem of eter­nal rest,
Day of all the week the best,
Emblem of eter­nal rest.

Mercies mul­ti­plied each hour
Through the week our praise de­mand;
Guarded by al­migh­ty pow­er,
Fed and guid­ed by His hand;
Though un­grate­ful we have been,
Only made re­turns of sin,
Though un­grate­ful we have been,
Only made re­turns of sin.

While we pray for par­don­ing grace,
Through the dear Re­deem­er’s name,
Show Thy re­con­cil­èd face,
Shine away our sin and shame;
From our world­ly cares set free
May we rest this day with Thee,
From our world­ly cares set free,
May we rest this day with Thee.

Here we come Thy name to praise,
Let us feel Thy pre­sence near,
May Thy glo­ry meet our eyes,
While we in Thy house ap­pear:
Here af­ford us, Lord, a taste
Of our ev­er­last­ing feast,
Here af­ford us, Lord, a taste
Of our ev­er­last­ing feast.

May Thy Gos­pel’s joy­ful sound
Conquer sin­ners, com­fort saints;
May the fruits of grace abound,
Bring re­lief for all com­plaints;
Thus may all our Sab­baths prove
Till we join the church above,
Thus may all our Sab­baths prove
Till we join the church above!

—John Newton

Sunday Hymn: Approach, My Soul

Approach, my soul, the mer­cy seat,
Where Je­sus an­swers pray­er;
There hum­bly fall be­fore His feet,
For none can per­ish there.

Thy pro­mise is my on­ly plea,
With this I ven­ture nigh;
Thou call­est bur­dened souls to Thee,
And such, O Lord, am I.

Bowed down be­neath a load of sin,
By Sa­tan sore­ly pressed,
By war with­out and fears with­in,
I come to Thee for rest.

Be Thou my shield and hid­ing place,
That, shel­tered by Thy side,
I may my fierce ac­cus­er face,
And tell him Thou hast died!

O won­drous love! to bleed and die,
To bear the cross and shame,
That guil­ty sin­ners, such as I,
Might plead Thy gra­cious name.

Poor tem­pest toss­èd soul, be still;
My pro­mised grace re­ceive;
’Tis Je­sus speaks—I must, I will,
I can, I do be­lieve.

—John Newton

Sunday Hymn: Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken

Glorious things of thee are spok­en,
Zion, ci­ty of our God!
He, whose word can­not be brok­en,
Formed thee for His own ab­ode.
On the Rock of Ag­es found­ed,
What can shake thy sure re­pose?
With sal­va­tion’s walls sur­round­ed,
Thou may’st smile at all thy foes.

See! the streams of liv­ing wa­ters,
Springing from eter­nal love;
Well sup­ply thy sons and daugh­ters,
And all fear of want re­move:
Who can faint while such a riv­er
Ever flows their thirst t’as­suage?
Grace, which like the Lord, the giv­er,
Never fails from age to age.

Round each ha­bi­ta­tion hov­er­ing,
See the cloud and fire ap­pear!
For a glo­ry and a cov­er­ing
Showing that the Lord is near.
Thus de­riv­ing from our ban­ner
Light by night and shade by day;
Safe they feed up­on the man­na
Which He gives them when they pray.

Blest in­ha­bi­tants of Zi­on,
Washed in the Re­deem­er’s blood!
Jesus, whom their souls re­ly on,
Makes them kings and priests to God.
’Tis His love His peo­ple rais­es,
Over self to reign as kings,
And as priests, His so­lemn prais­es
Each for a thank of­fer­ing brings.

Savior, if of Zi­on’s ci­ty,
I through grace a mem­ber am,
Let the world de­ride or pi­ty,
I will glo­ry in Thy name:
Fading is the world­ling’s plea­sure,
All his boast­ed pomp and show;
Solid joys and last­ing trea­sure
None but Zi­on’s child­ren know.

—John Newton