The Soul Flying to Christ for Refuge. Heb. 6. 18
J. Berridge S.M.
1
No help in self I find,
And yet have sought it well;
The native treasure of my mind
Is sin, and death, and hell.
2
To Christ for help I fly,
The Friend of sinners lost,
A refuge sweet, and sure, and nigh,
And there is all my trust.
3
Lord, grant me free access
Unto thy piercèd side,
For there I seek my dwelling-place,
And there my guilt would hide.
4
In every time of need,
My helpless soul defend,
And save me from all evil deed,
And save me to the end.
5
And when the hour is near
That flesh and heart will fail,
Do thou in all thy grace appear,
And bid my faith prevail.
