Out Of The Depths

It makes the wounded spirit whole, 
And calms the troubled breast; 
‘Tis manna to the hungry soul, 
And to the weary rest.

Dear Name! the Rock on which I build 
My Shield and Hiding-place; 
My never-failing Treasury fill’d 
With boundless stores of grace.

By Thee my prayers acceptance gain, 
Although with sin defiled; 
Satan accuses me in vain, 
And I am own’d a child.

Jesus! my Shepherd, Husband, Friend, 
My Prophet, Priest, and King; 
My Lord, my Life, my Way, my End, 
Accept the praise I bring.

Weak is the effort of my heart, 
And cold my warmest thought; 
But when I see Thee as Thou art, 
I’ll praise Thee as I ought.

Till then I would Thy love proclaim 
With every fleeting breath; 
And may the music of Thy Name 
Refresh my soul in death!

                             —John Newton