Sunday Hymn: Not What My Hands Have Done

Not what my hands have done
Can save my guil­ty soul;
Not what my toil­ing flesh has borne
Can make my spir­it whole.
Not what I feel or do
Can give me peace with God;
Not all my pray­ers and sighs and tears
Can bear my aw­ful load.

Thy work alone, O Christ,
Can ease this weight of sin;
Thy blood alone, O Lamb of God,
Can give me peace with­in.
Thy love to me, O God,
Not mine, O Lord, to Thee,
Can rid me of this dark un­rest,
And set my spir­it free.

Thy grace alone, O God,
To me can par­don speak;
Thy pow­er alone, O Son of God,
Can this sore bond­age break.
No oth­er work, save Thine,
No mean­er blood will do;
No strength, save that which is di­vine,
Can bear me safe­ly through.

I bless the Christ of God;
I rest on love di­vine;
And with un­fal­ter­ing lip and heart
I call this Sav­ior mine.
His cross dis­pels each doubt;
I bu­ry in His tomb
Each thought of un­belief and fear,
Each lin­ger­ing shade of gloom.

I praise the God of grace;
I trust His truth and might;
He calls me His, I call Him mine,
My God, my joy and light.
In Him is on­ly good,
In me is on­ly ill;
My ill but draws His good­ness forth,
And me He lov­eth still.

’Tis He who sav­eth me,
And free­ly par­don gives;
I love be­cause He lov­eth me,
I live be­cause He lives.
My life with Him is hid,
My death has passed away,
My clouds have melt­ed in­to light,
My mid­night in­to day.

—Horatius Bonar

Sunday Hymn: Let Us Plead for Faith Alone

Let us plead for faith alone
Faith which by our works is shown;
God it is who jus­ti­fies,
Only faith the grace ap­plies.

Active faith that lives with­in,
Conquers hell and death and sin,
Hallows whom it first made whole,
Forms the Sav­ior in the soul.

Let us for this faith con­tend,
Sure sal­va­tion is the end;
Heaven al­rea­dy is be­gun,
Everlasting life is won.

Only let us per­se­vere
Till we see our Lord ap­pear,
Never from the Rock re­move,
Saved by faith which works by love.

—Charles Wesley

Sunday Hymn: O Word of God Incarnate

O Word of God incarnate,
O Wisdom from on high,
O Truth, unchanged, unchanging,
O Light of our dark sky!
We praise Thee for the radiance
That from the hallow’d page,
A lantern to our footsteps,
Shines on from age to age.

The Church from her dear Master
Received the gift divine,
And still that light she lifteth
O’er all the earth to shine.
It is the golden casket
Where gems of truth are stored,
It is the heaven-drawn picture
Of Christ, the living Word.

It floateth like a banner
Before God’s host unfurl’d;
It shineth like a beacon
Above the darkling world;
It is the chart and compass
That o’er life’s surging sea,
Mid mists and rocks and quicksands,
Still guides, O Christ, to Thee.

O make Thy Church, dear Saviour,
A lamp of burnish’d gold,
To bear before the nations
Thy true light as of old;
O teach Thy wandering pilgrims
By this, their path to trace,
Till, clouds and darkness ended,
They see Thee face to face.

—William W. How