Praise the Grace that Whispered Peace

Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise thee

for the bliss thy love bestows,

for the pard'ning grace that saves me,

and the peace that from it flows.

Help, O God, my weak endeavor;

this dull soul to rapture raise;

thou must light the flame, or never

can my love be warmed to praise.

Praise, my soul, the God that sought thee,

wretched wand'rer far astray;

found thee lost, and kindly brought thee

from the paths of death away.

Praise, with love's devoutest feeling,

him who saw thy guilt-born fear,

and, the light of hope revealing,

bade the blood-stained cross appear.

Praise thy Savior God that drew thee

to that cross, new life to give,

held a blood sealed pardon to thee,

bade thee look to him and live.

Praise the grace whose threats alarmed thee,

roused thee from thy fatal ease;

praise the grace whose promise warmed thee,

praise the grace that whispered peace.

Lord, this bosom's ardent feeling

vainly would my lips express:

low before thy footstool kneeling,

deign thy suppliant's pray'r to bless.

Let thy love, my soul's chief treasure,

love's pure flame within me raise;

and, since words can never measure,

let my life show forth thy praise.

~Francis Scott Key

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