Scripture Verse

Samuel took a stone and…named it Ebenezer, saying Thus far has the Lord helped us. 1 Samuel 7:12

Introduction

portrait
John Wyeth
1770–1858

Words: Ro­bert Rob­in­son, writ­ten for Whit­sun­day (Pen­te­cost) 1758. Ap­peared in his Col­lec­tion of Hymns Used by the Church of Christ in An­gel Al­ley, Bi­shop­gate, 1759.

Music: Net­tle­ton Wy­eth’s Re­po­si­to­ry of Sac­red Mu­sic, Part Se­cond John Wy­eth, 1813 (🔊 pdf nwc).

Alternate Tune:

portrait
Robert Robinson
1735–1790

The au­thor of this hymn, born in 1735, was of low­ly par­ent­age. At the age of four­teen his wi­dowed mo­ther sent him to Lon­don to learn the trade of bar­ber and hair-dress­er. His mas­ter found him more giv­en to read­ing than to his pro­fess­ion.

While in Lon­don he at­tend­ed meet­ings held by the great ev­an­gel­ist, George White­field, be­came con­vert­ed, and be­gan to stu­dy for the min­is­try.

In the lat­ter part of his life, Mr. Ro­bin­son oft­en in­dulged in fri­vo­lous habits. But on one oc­ca­sion, while tra­vel­ing in a stage-coach, he en­coun­tered a la­dy who soon com­pelled him to ad­mit his ac­quaint­ance with re­li­gion. She had just been read­ing this hymn, and she asked his opin­ion of it, af­ter hav­ing told him of the bless­ings it had brought to her heart.

He avoid­ed the sub­ject and turned her at­ten­tion to some oth­er to­pic; but the la­dy, who did not know to whom she was talk­ing, soon re­turned to the hymn, ex­press­ing her strong ad­mi­ra­tion for its sen­ti­ments. Ag­i­tat­ed be­yond the pow­er of con­troll­ing his emo­tion, Ro­bin­son broke out:

Madam, I am the poor, un­hap­py man who com­posed that hymn ma­ny years ago, and I would give a thou­sand worlds, if I had them, to en­joy the feel­ings I had then.

Sankey, pp. 144–45

Lyrics

Come, Thou fount of ev­ery bless­ing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mer­cy, ne­ver ceas­ing,
Call for songs of loud­est praise.
Teach me some me­lo­di­ous son­net,
Sung by flam­ing tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed up­on it,
Mount of Thy re­deem­ing love.

Sorrowing I shall be in spi­rit,
Till re­leased from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do in­her­it,
Here Thy prais­es I’ll be­gin;
Here I raise my Eb­en­ez­er;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good ple­asure,
Safely to ar­rive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stran­ger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to res­cue me from dan­ger,
Interposed His pre­cious blood;
How His kind­ness yet pur­sues me
Mortal tongue can ne­ver tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I can­not pro­claim it well.

O to grace how great a debt­or
Daily I’m con­strained to be!
Let Thy good­ness, like a fet­ter,
Bind my wan­der­ing heart to Thee.
Prone to wan­der, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

O that day when freed from sin­ning,
I shall see Thy love­ly face;
Clothèd then in blood washed li­nen
How I’ll sing Thy so­ve­reign grace;
Come, my Lord, no long­er tar­ry,
Take my ran­somed soul away;
Send Thine an­gels now to car­ry
Me to realms of end­less day.