Lord, I believe; help Thou mine unbelief. Mark 9:24
On July 19, 1738, Charles Wesley and his friends sang this hymn with the criminals on their way to Tyburn. The poet foundthat hour under the gallows the most blessed hour of his life.
Nutter, p. 143
How sad our state by nature is!
Our sin, how deep it stains!
And Satan binds our captive souls
Fast in his slavish chains.
But hark! a voice of sovereign grace
Sounds from the sacred Word;
Ho, ye despairing sinners, come,
And trust upon the Lord!
My soul obeys the Almighty’s call,
And runs to this relief;
I would believe Thy promise, Lord;
O help my unbelief!
To the blest fountain of Thy blood,
Incarnate God, I fly;
Here let me wash my spotted soul
From sins of deepest dye.
Stretch out Thine arm, victorious King,
My reigning sins subdue,
Drive the old Dragon from his seat,
With all his hellish crew.
A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,
Into Thy hands I fall;
Be Thou my strength and righteousness,
My Savior, and my all.