Poor, Weak and Worthless Though I Am

Poor

weak and worth­less though I am

I have a rich almigh­ty friend;

Jesus

the Sav­ior

is His name;

He free­ly loves

and with­out end.

He ran­somed me from hell with blood

And by His pow­er my foes con­trolled;

He found me

wan­der­ing far from God

And brought me to His chos­en fold.

He cheers my heart

my wants sup­plies

And says that I shall short­ly be

Enthroned with Him above the skies;

Oh! what a friend is Christ to me.

But

ah! my in­most spir­it mourns

And well my eyes with tears may swim

To think of my per­verse re­turns:

I’ve been a faith­less friend to Him.

Often my gra­cious friend I grieve

Neglect

dis­trust

and dis­ob­ey;

And oft­en Sa­tan’s lies be­lieve

Sooner than all my friend can say.

He bids me al­ways freely come

And pro­mis­es whate’er I ask:

But I am strait­ened

cold and dumb

And count my pri­vi­lege a task.

Before the world that hates His course

My trea­cher­ous heart has throb­bed with shame;

Loath to fore­go the world’s ap­plause

I hard­ly dare avow His name.

Sure

were I not most vile and base

I could not thus my friend re­quite!

And were not He the God of grace

He’d frown and spurn me from His sight.