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 par­don­ing voice I hear;
He owns me for His 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