“I cannot boast when…”

Amazing Grace

O thou giving God,

My heart is drawn out in thankfulness to thee,

   for thy amazing grace and condescension to me

   in influences and assistances of thy Spirit,

   for special help in prayer,

   for the sweetness of Christian service,

   for the thoughts of arriving in heaven,

   for always sending me needful supplies,

   for raising me to new life when I am like one dead.

I want not the favour of man to lean upon

   for thy favour is infinitely better.

Thou art eternal wisdom in dispensations towards me; and it matters not

   when, nor where, nor how I serve thee

   nor what trials I am exercised with,

   if I might but be prepared for thy work and will.

No poor creature stands in need of divine grace more than I do

And yet none abuses it more more than I have done, and still do.

How heartless and dull I am!

Humble me in the dust for not loving thee more.

Every time I exercise any grace renewably

   I am renewedly indebted to thee,

   the God of all grace, for special assistance.

I cannot boast when I think of how dependent

   I am upon thee for the being and every act of grace;

I never do anything else but depart from thee,

   and if ever I get to heaven it will be because

   thou wiliest it, and for no reason beside.

I love, as a feeble, afflicted, despised creature,

   to cast myself on thy infinite grace and goodness,

   hoping for no happiness but from thee;

Give me special race to fit me for special services,

   and keep me calm and resigned at all times,

   humble, solemn, mortified,

   and conformed to thy will.

“hold fast”

tunes of the week (actually, the last 2 or so)

 

Frank Sinatra’s Greatest Hits…

 

“having none, yet”

Bid me to live, and I will live

         Thy protestant to be;

Or bid me love, and I will give

         A loving heart to thee.

 

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,

         A heart as sound and free,

As in the whole world thou canst find,

         That heart I’ll give to thee.

 

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,

         To honour thy decree;

Or bid it languish quite away,

         And ‘t shall do so for thee.

 

Bid me to weep, and I will weep,

         While I have eyes to see;

And having none, yet I will keep

         A heart to weep for thee.

 

Bid me despair, and I’ll despair,

         Under that cypress tree;

Or bid me die, and I will dare

         E’en death, to die for thee.

 

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,

         The very eyes of me;

And hast command of every part,

         To live and die for thee.

———–”To Anthea, Who May Command Him Anything” by Robert Herrick

“the whole and genuine meanness of it”

We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectaion of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep.  I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a counscious endeavor.  It is something to be able to paint a particular picture, or to carve a statue, and so to make a few objects beautiful; but it is far more glorious to carve and paint the very atmosphere and medium thorugh which we look, which morally we can do.  To affect the quality of the day, that is the highest of arts.  Every man is tasked to make his life, even in its details, worthy of the contemplation of his most elevatied and critical hour.  If we refused, or rather used up, such paltry information as we get, the oracles would distinctly inform us how this might be done.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover hat I had not lived.  I did not wsh to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practice resignation, unless it was quite necessary.  I wanted to live deep and such out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms, and, if it proved to be mean, why then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it, and publish its meanness to the world; or if it were sublime, to know it by experience, and be able to give a true account of it in my next excursion.

—from Henry David Thoreau‘s, Walden

 

“everything” & “nothing”

God connects salvation with “beleiving”, “trusting”, “knowing”, “remembering”.  Yet the salvation is not in our act of believing, trusting, knowing, or remembering; it is in the thing or person believed on, trusted, known, remembered.

Believing in the Lord Jesus Christ will do everything for us; believing in our own faith, or trusting in our own trust, will do nothing.–Horatius Bonar

tunes of the week

Sufjan Steven’s Christmas album…

And a video….

“runne, rise, rest”

Trinitie Sunday

Lord, who hast from’d me out of mud,

      And hast redeem’d me through thy bloud,

      And sancfifi’d me to do good;

Purge all my sinnes done heretofore:

      For I confesse my heavie score,

      And I will strive to sinne no more,

Enrich my heart, mouth, hands in me,

      With faith, with hope, with charitie;

      That I may runne, rise, rest with thee.

tunes of the week

Matthew Perryman Jones’, Until the Dawn Appears

Favorite song: Until the Dawn Appears

Well its easier to clinch your first and grind your teeth
Then to look into the sadness that lives underneath

“the conclusion is like a slap”

Psalm 51: “Somebody Else” by Paul Tripp

I really wish I could blame
somebody else.
I wish I could place the responsibility
on somebody else.
I would love to point the finger
at somebody else.
I wish I could convince myself
that it was somebody else.I tried to feed myself the logic
that it was somebody else.
For a moment I bought my argument
that it was somebody else.
There is always another sinner
who can bear my fault.There is always some circumstance
that can carry my blame.
There’s always some factor
that made me do what I did.
There’s always somewhere else to point
rather than looking at me.
But in the darkness of bedtime
the logic melts out of my heart.
In the moments before sleep
the pain begins to squeeze away my breath.
As my mind replays the day’s moments
the conclusion is like a slap.
There is no monster
to hide from.
There is no excuse that holds.
My war is not external
the enemy is not outside.
The struggle rages within me,
nowhere to point or run.
No independent righteousness,
no reason for smugness or rest.
I am my greatest enemy
and rescue my only hope.
In the quiet I face it
I cannot blame somebody else.
One more time I close my eyes admitting
my only hope is found in Somebody else.