Blessed be ye poor

Verse 1

Lord, when I hear thy children talk, (And I believe ’tis often true), How with delight thy ways they walk, And gladly thy commandments do;

Verse 2

In my own breast I look and read Accounts so very different there, That, had I not thy blood to plead, Each sight would sink me to despair.

Verse 3

Needy, and naked, and unclean, Empty of good, and full of ill, A lifeless lump of loathsome sin, Without the power to act or will.

Verse 4

I feel my fainting spirits droop; My wretched leanness I deplore; Till gladdened with a gleam of hope From this, The Lord has blessed the poor.

Verse 5

Then, while I make my secret moan, Upwards I cast my eyes, and see, Though I have nothing of my own, My treasure is immense in thee.

Verse 6

My treasure is thy precious blood; Fix there my heart, and for the rest, Under thy forming hands, my God, Give me that frame which thou lik’st best.