Blest is the man, supremely blest

Verse 1

Blest is the soul, supremely blest, Whose wickedness is all forgiv’n, Who finds in Jesu’s wounds sweet rest And sees the smiling face of Heav’n. The guilt and pow’r of sin is gone From those who do in Christ believe; Covered it lies, and still kept down, And buried in the Savior’s grave.

Verse 2

But while through pride I held my tongue Nor owned my helpless unbelief, My bones were wasted all day long, My strength consumed with pining grief; Crushed by your anger’s heavy hand, Burnt up as a dry, barren ground, I ever of my sin complained, But no relief or mercy found.

Verse 3

Resolved at last, “To God,” I cried, “My sins I will at large confess, My shame I will no longer hide, My depth of desperate wickedness. All will I own unto my Lord, Without reserve or cloaking art,” I said, and felt the pard’ning word; Your mercy spoke it to my heart.

Verse 4

You are my hiding place and trust; I rest secure from sin and hell; Safe in the love that ransomed us, And sheltered in your wounds I dwell. Still shall your grace to me abound; The countless wonders of your grace I still shall tell to all around, And sing my great Deliv’rer’s praise.