John Newton

As the serpent raised by
Healed the burning serpent's bite;
Jesus thus himself
To the wounded sinner's sight:

In evil long I took delight,
Unawed by shame or fear,
Till a new object struck my sight,
And stopped my wild career

Beside the gospel
Appointed for the poor;
From year to year, my helpless
Has waited for a cure

By the poor widow's oil and
Elijah was sustained;
Though small the stock it lasted well,
For God the store maintained

Encouraged by thy
Of promise to the poor;
Behold, a beggar,
Lord,

Quiet,
Lord, my froward heart,
Make me teachable and mild;
Upright, simple, free from art,

When slumber seals our weary eyes,
The busy fancy wakeful keeps;
The scenes which then before us rise,
Prove something in us never sleeps

Now let us join with hearts and tongues,
And emulate the angels' songs;
Yea, sinners may address their King In songs that angels cannot sing
They praise the Lamb who once was slain;

How lost was my
Till Jesus made me whole
There is but one
Can cure a sin-sick

Thus saith the Lord to Ephesus,
And thus he speaks to some of us;
Amidst my churches, lo,
I stand,

When Joshua, by God's command,
Invaded Canaan's guilty land;
Gibeon, unlike the nations round,
Submission made and mercy found

As parched in the barren
Beneath a burning sky,
The worthless bramble with'ring stands,
And only grows to die