T   hy throne of grace

          is the pleasure ground of my soul.

Here I obtain mercy in time of need,

   here see the smile of thy reconciled face,

   here joy pleads the name of Jesus,

   here I sharpen the sword of the Spirit,

         anoint the shield of faith,

         put on the helmet of salvation,

         gather manna from thy Word,

         am strengthened for each conflict,

         nerved for the upward race,

         empowered to conquer every foe;

Help me to come to Christ

   as the fountain head of descending blessings,

   as a wide open flood-gate of mercy.

I marvel at my insensate folly, that

   with such enriching favours within my reach

   I am slow to extend the hand to take them.

Have mercy upon my deadness for thy Name’s sake.

Quicken me, stir me, fill me with holy zeal.

Strengthen me that I may cling to thee

     and not let thee go.

May thy Spirit within me draw all blessings

     from thy hand.

When I advance not, I backslide.

Let me walk humbly because of good omitted

     and evil done.

Impress on my mind the shortness of time,

   the work to be engaged in,

   the account to be rendered,

   the nearness of eternity,

   the fearful sin of despising thy Spirit.

May I never forget that

   thy eye always sees,

   thy ear always hears,

   thy recording hand always writes.

May I never give thee rest until Christ is

   the pulse of my heart;

   the spokesman of my lips,

   the lamp of my feet.