Christ the Believer’s Surety. Mark 2. 5; John 10. 15
J. Hart C.M.
What slavish fears molest my mind,
And vex my sickly soul!
How is it, Lord, that thou art kind,
And yet I am not whole?
[Ah! why should unbelief and pride,
With all their hellish train,
Still in my ransomed soul abide,
And give me all this pain?
Thy word is past, thy promise made;
With power it came from heaven;
“Cheer up, desponding soul,” it said,
“Thy sins are all forgiven.
“Behold, I make thy cause my own;
I bought thee with my blood;
Thy wicked works on me be thrown,
And I will work thy good.
“I am thy God, thy Guide till death,
Thy everlasting Friend;
On me for love, for works, for faith,
On me for all depend.”]
Thy blood, dear Lord, has brought my peace,
And paid the heavy debt;
Has given a fair and full release,
But I’m in prison yet.
Unjustly now these foes of mine
Their devilish hate pursue;
They made my Surety pay the fine,
Yet plague the prisoner too.
What right can my tormentors plead,
That I should not be free?
Here’s an amazing change indeed!
Justice is now for me.
Lord, break these bars that thus confine,
These chains that gall me so;
Say to that ugly gaoler, Sin,
“Loose him, and let him go.”