The Gospel. Rom. 10. 15; Isa. 52. 7; Rom. 1. 16

W. Gadsby    C.M.

What a divine harmonious sound
The gospel-trumpet gives;
No music can with it compare;
The soul that knows it lives.

Ten thousand blessings it contains,
Divinely rich and free,
For helpless, wretched, ruined man,
Though vile and base as we.

It speaks of pardon, full and free,
Through Christ, the Lamb once slain;
Whose blood can cleanse the foulest soul,
And take away all stain.

The vilest sinner out of hell,
Who lives to feel his need,
Is welcome to a Throne of Grace,
The Saviour’s blood to plead.

The Lord delights to hear them cry,
And knock at mercy’s door;
’Tis grace that makes them feel their need,
And pray to him for more.

Nor will he send them empty back,
Nor fright them from the door;
The Father has in Jesus stored
All blessings for the poor.


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