Southern Christian Advocate

POETRY

THE MERCY OF GOD IN CHRIST JESUS.

Mr. Editor—I venture to send you the following translation, or imitation, of the favorite old German hymn commencing,

“Ich habe nun den Grund gefunden.”

It is not presumed that it will compare with the translation of the same hymn, found in the Methodist Hymn-Book, beginning,

“Now I have found the ground wherein,”

commonly attributed to Rev. John Wesley. But it is possible that some may have the curiosity to read translations of the same piece by two different hands; and the following in a degree, compensates in quantity for what it lacks in quality—having four verses more than the translation in the Hymn-Book. The third, seventh, eighth, and ninth verses of the original do not appear in the Methodist Hymn-Book. The measure of this is the same as that in the Hymn-Book; but the rhyme is different. The measure differs slightly from the original, which is 9, 8, 9, 8, 8, 8, Iambic. This measure is not so well adapted to the English as the German language. The heading is supplied.

At length my weary soul has found
Its all-sufficient Anchor-ground—
The ground before the world was made,
In Jesus’ wounds for sinners laid;

And which shall stand unmoved and sure,
When earth and heaven no more endure.

Lo! here is Mercy, boundless, free
Surpassing thought!—for all—for me!

Behold, down-stretching from above,
Our Father’s open arms of love—
Proof of his melting heart’s desire,
To save us from eternal fire!

Why should we then of heaven despair?
God wills—and we shall see him there.

For this the Son came down to die—
For this returned again on high—
For this, though slighted o’er and o’er,
Stands knocking at the sinner’s door.

O depth! where all our sins are thrown,
Through Christ’s vicarious death alone—
The wounds from whence atoning flow
The streams that wash us white as snow—

For those life-streams his wounds supply—
For ever MERCY! MERCY! cry.

By washing in this fountain pure,
My soul obtains a perfect cure,
And finds, for every pain and smart,
A balm in Jesus’ bleeding heart—

Exhaustless source of life and grace,
And mercy’s native dwelling-place!

Were all things else to disappear,
Which solace soul or body here—
Life’s dearest blessings be withdrawn,
And all my joys and honors gone,

There yet remains this bliss divine—
MERCY, REDEEMING MERCY, mine!

When earthly things my soul oppress
With loads of sorrow and distress,
And worldly cares my heart assail,
And o’er my troubled mind prevail,

I fly from these distracting harms,
To throw myself in Mercy’s arms.

Do all my works and ways below
Full many imperfections show?
And those which once most perfect seemed,
In clearer light be worthless deemed?

This, this alone is all my plea—
O, God be MERCIFUL to me!

All things submit to His command,
Whose mercies never-failing stand;
To him will I prefer my prayer,
Who makes my peace his constant care;

Thus will I find in good and ill,
His Mercy my protection still.

Here, anchored safe, my soul shall stay,
Joyful through life’s tempestuous day;
Be mine to exalt this boundless love,
While thought remains or tongue can move,

And sing, when harps of gold are given,
Mercy’s transporting song in heaven.