Sunday Hymn: Arise, My Soul, Arise

Arise, my soul, arise,
shake off thy guilty fears.
The bleeding Sacrifice
in my behalf appears.
Before the throne my Surety stands,
before the throne my Surety stands;
my name is written on His hands.

He ever lives above,
for me to intercede;
His all-redeeming love,
His precious blood to plead,
His blood atoned for all our race,
His blood atoned for all our race,
and sprinkles now the throne of grace.

Five bleeding wounds He bears,
received on Calvary;
they pour effectual prayers,
they strongly plead for me.
“Forgive him, O, forgive,” they cry,
“Forgive him, O, forgive,” they cry,
“Nor let that ransomed sinner die!”

The Father hears Him pray,
His dear Anointed One;
He cannot turn away
the presence of His Son.
His Spirit answers to the blood,
His Spirit answers to the blood,
and tells me I am born of God.

My God is reconciled,
His pard’ning voice I hear;
He owns me for a child,
I can no longer fear.
With confidence I now draw nigh,
with confidence I now draw nigh,
and, “Father, Abba, Father,” cry.

 —Charles Wesley

Sunday Hymn: I Greet Thee Who My Sure Redeemer Art

I greet thee, who my sure Redeemer art,
My only trust and Saviour of my heart,
Who pain didst undergo for my poor sake;
I pray thee from our hearts all cares to take.

Thou art the King of mercy and of grace,
Reigning omnipotent in every place:
So come, O King, and our whole being sway;
Shine on us with the light of thy pure day.

Thou art the life, by which alone we live,
And all our substance and our strength receive;
O comfort us in death’s approaching hour,
Strong-hearted then to face it by thy pow’r.

Thou hast the true and perfect gentleness,
No harshness hast thou and no bitterness:
Make us to taste the sweet grace found in thee
And ever stay in thy sweet unity.

Our hope is in no other save in thee;
Our faith is built upon thy promise free;
O grant to us such stronger hope and sure
That we can boldly conquer and endure.

 —attributed to John Calvin 

Sunday Hymn: The Love of God

The love of God is great­er far
Than tongue or pen can ev­er tell;
It goes be­yond the high­est star,
And reach­es to the low­est hell;
The guil­ty pair, bowed down with care,
God gave His Son to win;
His err­ing child He re­con­ciled,
And par­doned from his sin.

Refrain

O love of God, how rich and pure!
How mea­sure­less and strong!
It shall for­ev­er­more en­dure
The saints’ and an­gels’ song.

When years of time shall pass away,
And earth­ly thrones and king­doms fall,
When men, who here re­fuse to pray,
On rocks and hills and mount­ains call,
God’s love so sure, shall still en­dure,
All mea­sure­less and strong;
Redeeming grace to Ad­am’s race—
The saints’ and an­gels’ song.

Could we with ink the ocean fill,
And were the skies of parch­ment made,
Were ev­ery stalk on earth a quill,
And ev­ery man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll con­tain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.

—Fred­er­ick M. Leh­man