3 The fearful soul that tires and faints,
And walks the ways of God no more,
Is but esteem'd almost a saint,
And makes his own destruction sure.
4 Lord, let not all my hopes be vain;
Create my heart entirely new,
Which hypocrites could ne'er attain,
Which false apostates never knew.
Hymn 2:159.
An unconverted state;
or, Converting grace.
1 [Great King of Glory and of grace,
We own with humble shame,
How vile is our degenerate race,
And our first father's name.]
2 From Adam flows our tainted blood,
The poison reigns within,
Makes us averse to all that's good,
And willing slaves to sin.
3 [Daily we break thy holy laws,
And then reject thy grace;
Engag'd in the old serpent's cause
Against our Maker's face.]
4 We live estrang'd afar from God,
And love the distance well;
With haste we run the dangerous road
That leads to death and hell.
5 And can such rebels be restor'd?
Such natures made divine?
Let sinners see thy glory, Lord,
And feel this power of thine.
6 We raise our Father's name on high,
Who his own Spirit sends
To bring rebellious strangers nigh,
And turn his foes to friends.
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