His compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is Thy faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22–23
Words: Thomas Gibbons, in the Gospel Magazine, 1775.
Music: Clapham, anonymous, in The Primitive Methodist Hymnal, edited by George Booth (London: Primitive Methodist Publishing House, 1889) (🔊 pdf nwc).
Thy goodness, Lord, our souls confess,
Thy goodness we adore:
A spring, whose blessings never fail,
A sea without a shore.
Sun, moon and stars Thy love attest,
In every cheerful ray:
Love draws the curtains of the night,
And love restores the day.
Thy bounty every season crowns,
With all the bliss it yields;
With joyful clusters bend the vines,
With harvests wave the fields.
But chiefly Thy compassions, Lord,
Are in the Gospel seen;
There, like the sun, Thy mercy shines,
Without a cloud between.
Thy Son, Thy noblest, choicest gift,
Was from Thy bosom sent
To bear from off a sinking world
Its load of punishment.
Pardon, acceptance, peace and joy
Are published in His name;
Ours is the life, the glory ours,
And His the death and shame.
Of sovereign grace how wide the reign;
How strong the current rolls
That bears to Heav’n’s unbounded bliss
Our hell-deserving souls!