403. Not what my hands have done

Not what my hands have done

Can save my guilty soul;

Not what my toiling flesh has borne

Can make my spirit whole.

Not what I feel or do

Can give me peace with God;

Not all my prayers and sighs and tears

Can bear my awful load.

Thy work alone, O Christ,

Can ease this weight of sin;

Thy blood alone, O Lamb of God,

Can give me peace within.

Thy love to me, O God,

Not mine, O Lord to thee,

Can rid me of this dark unrest,

And set my spirit free.

Thy grace alone, O God,

To me can pardon speak;

Thy pow’r alone, O Son of God,

Can this sore bondage break.

No other work, save thine,

No other blood will do;

No strength, save that which is divine,

Can bear me safely through.

I bless the Christ of God;

I rest on love divine;

And with unfalt’ring lip and heart

I call this Saviour mine.

His cross dispels each doubt;

I bury in his tomb

Each thought of unbelief and fear,

Each ling’ring shade of gloom.

I praise the God of grace;

I trust his truth and might;

He calls me his, I call him mine,

My God, my joy, my light.

’Tis he who saveth me,

And freely pardon gives;

I love because he loveth me,

I live because he lives.