Sunday Hymn: I Asked the Lord That I Might Grow

I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith, and love, and ev­ery grace;
Might more of His sal­va­tion know,
And seek, more ear­nest­ly, His face.

’Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has an­swered pray­er!
But it has been in such a way,
As al­most drove me to des­pair.

I hoped that in some fa­vored hour,
At once He’d an­swer my re­quest;
And by His love’s con­strain­ing pow’r,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, He made me feel
The hid­den ev­ils of my heart;
And let the an­gry pow­ers of hell
Assault my soul in ev­ery part.

Yea more, with His own hand He seemed
Intent to ag­gra­vate my woe;
Crossed all the fair de­signs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this, I trem­bling cried,
Wilt thou pur­sue Thy worm to death?
’Tis in this way, the Lord re­plied,
I ans­wer pray­er for grace and faith.

These in­ward tri­als I em­ploy,
From self, and pride, to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earth­ly joy,
That thou may’st find thy all in Me.

—John Newton