The Soul Flying to Christ for Refuge. Heb. 6. 18

J. Berridge   S.M.

No help in self I find,
And yet have sought it well;
The native treasure of my mind
Is sin, and death, and hell.

To Christ for help I fly,
The Friend of sinners lost,
A refuge sweet, and sure, and nigh,
And there is all my trust.

Lord, grant me free access
Unto thy piercèd side,
For there I seek my dwelling-place,
And there my guilt would hide.

In every time of need,
My helpless soul defend,
And save me from all evil deed,
And save me to the end.

And when the hour is near
That flesh and heart will fail,
Do thou in all thy grace appear,
And bid my faith prevail.

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