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1 Preserve me, Lord, in time of need,
For succour to thy throne I flee,
But have no merits there to plead;
My goodness cannot reach to thee.
2 Oft have my heart and tongue confest
How empty and how poor I am;
My praise can never make thee blest,
Nor add new glories to thy name.
3 Yet, Lord thy saints on earth may reap
Some profit by the good we do;
These are the company I keep,
These are the choicest friends I know.
4 Let others chuse the sons of mirth,
To give a relish to their wine;
I love the men of heavenly birth,
Whose thoughts and language are divine.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | Preserve me, Lord, in time of need |
Title: | Confession of our Poverty; and, Saints the best Company; or, Good Works profit Men, not GOD |
Meter: | Long Metre |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1785 |
Scripture: | |
Notes: | First Part |