by John Newton, When Hannah, Pressed with Grief
“ Though men despise and call us base, Still let us ply the throne of grace. Men have not pow’r or skill, With troubled souls to bear; Though they express good-will, Poor comforters they are: But swelling sorrows sink apace, When we approach the throne of grace. ”
by John Newton, When Hannah, Pressed with Grief
“ In trouble, what a resting place, Have they who know the throne of grace! Though men and devils rage, And threaten to devour; The saints, from age to age, Are safe from all their pow’r: Fresh strength they gain to run their race, By waiting at the throne of grace. Eli her case mistook, How was her spirit moved By his unkind rebuke? But God her cause approved. We need not fear a creature’s face, While welcome at the throne of grace. ”
