Blessed are they to whom the Lord
No more imputes iniquity,
Whose spirit is by grace restored,
And from all lies and guile set free.
But while, through pride, I held my tongue,
Nor owned my helpless unbelief,
My being languished all day long,
And conscience roared without relief.
Resolved at last to God I cried,
'I will my evil ways confess,
No more evade, nor seek to hide
My depth of shameful sinfulness.'
For this shall every child of God,
Thine all-surpassing love declare,
And take the grace on all bestowed,
Who pray the contrite sinner's prayer.
Blessed are they, supremely blest,
Whose wickedness is all forgiven,
Who find in Jesus' wounds their rest,
And see the smiling face of Heaven.
Charles Wesley, 1707-88