The Foolish Virgins
When descending from the sky
The Bridegroom shall appear;
And the solemn midnight cry,
Shall call professors near:
How the sound our hearts will damp!
How will shame o'erspread each face!
If we only have a lamp,
Without the oil of grace.
Foolish virgins then will wake
And seek for a supply;
But in vain the pains they take
To borrow or to buy:
Then with those they now despise,
Earnestly they'll wish to share;
But the best, among the wise,
Will have no oil to spare.
Wise are they, and truly blest,
Who then shall ready be
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poem by John Newton
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Peter Released From Prison
Fervent persevering prayers
Are faith's assured resource,
Brazen gates, and iron bars,
In vain withstand their force:
Peter when in prison cast,
Though by soldiers kept with care;
Though the doors were bolted fast,
Was soon released by prayer.
While he slept an angel came
And spread a light around;
Touched, and called him by his name,
And raised him from the ground:
All his chains and fetters burst,
Every door wide open flew;
Peter thought he dreamed, at first,
But found the vision true.
Thus the Lord can make a way
To bring his saints relief;
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poem by John Newton
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Waiting For Spring
Though cloudy skies, and northern blasts,
Retard the gentle spring awhile;
The sun will conqu'ror prove at last,
And nature wear a vernal smile.
The promise, which from age to age,
Has brought the changing seasons round;
Again shall calm the winter's rage,
Perfume the air, and paint the ground.
The virtue of that first command,
I know still does, and will prevail;
That while the earth itself shall stand,
The spring and summer shall not fail.
Such changes are for us decreed;
Believers have their winters too;
But spring shall certainly succeed,
And all their former life renew.
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poem by John Newton
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Jacob's Ladder
If the Lord our leader be,
We may follow without fear;
East or West, by land or sea,
Home, with him, is everywhere;
When from Esau Jacob fled,
Though his pillow was a stone,
And the ground his humble bed,
Yet he was not left alone.
Kings are often waking kept,
Racked with cares on beds of state;
Never king like Jacob slept.
For he lay at heaven's gate:
Lo! he saw a ladder reared,
Reaching to the heav'nly throne;
At the top the Lord appeared,
Spake and claimed him for his own.
Fear not, Jacob, thou art mine,
And my presence with thee goes;
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poem by John Newton
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The Rich Man And Lazarus
A Worldling spent each day
In luxury and state;
While a believer lay,
A beggar at his gate:
Think not the Lord's appointments strange,
Death made a great and lasting change.
Death brought the saint release
From want, disease, and scorn;
And to the land of peace,
His soul, by angels borne,
In Abraham's bosom safely placed,
Enjoys an everlasting feast.
The rich man also died,
And in a moment fell
From all his pomp and pride
Into the flames of hell:
The beggar's bliss from far beheld,
His soul with double anguish filled.
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poem by John Newton
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To The Afflicted, Tossed With Tempests And Not Comforted
Pensive, doubting, fearful heart,
Hear what Christ the Saviour says;
Every word should joy impart,
Change thy mourning into praise:
Yes, he speaks, and speaks to thee,
May he help thee to believe!
Then thou presently wilt see,
Thou hast little cause to grieve.
Fear thou not, nor be ashamed,
All thy sorrows soon shall end
I who heav'n and earth have framed,
Am thy husband and thy friend
I the High and Holy One,
Israel's God by all adored;
As thy Saviour will be known,
Thy Redeemer and thy Lord.
For a moment I withdrew,
And thy heart was filled with pain;
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poem by John Newton
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The Inward Warfare
Strange and mysterious is my life,
What opposites I feel within!
A stable peace, a constant strife,
The rule of grace, the pow'r of sin:
Too often I am captive led,
Yet daily triumph in my Head.
I prize the privilege of prayer,
But o! what backwardness to pray!
Though on the Lord I cast my care,
I feel its burden every day:
I seek his will in all I do,
Yet find my own is working too.
I call the promises my own,
And prize them more than mines of gold;
Yet though their sweetness I have known,
They leave me unimpressed and cold
One hour upon the truth I feed,
The next I know not what I read.
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poem by John Newton
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Harvest
See! the corn again in ear!
How the fields and valleys smile!
Harvest now is drawing near
To repay the farmer's toil:
Gracious Lord, secure the crop,
Satisfy the poor with food;
In thy mercy is our hope,
We have sinned but thou art good.
While I view the plenteous grain
As it ripens on the stalk;
May I not instruction gain,
Helpful, to my daily walk?
All this plenty of the field
Was produced from foreign seeds;
For the earth itself would yield
Only crops of useless weeds.
Though, when newly sawn, it lay
Hid awhile beneath the ground,
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poem by John Newton
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The Great Tribunal
John in vision saw the day
When the Judge will hasten down;
Heav'n and earth shall flee away
From the terror of his frown:
Dead and living, small and great,
Raised from the earth and sea;
At his bar shall hear their fate,
What will then become of me?
Can I bear his aweful looks?
Shall I stand in judgment then,
When I see the opened books,
Written by th' Almighty's pen?
If he to remembrance bring,
And expose to public view,
Every work and secret thing,
Ah, my soul, what canst thou do?
When the list shall be produced
Of the talents I enjoyed;
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poem by John Newton
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The Legion Dispossessed
Legion was my name by nature,
Satan raged within my breast;
Never misery was greater,
Never sinner more possessed:
Mischievous to all around me,
To myself the greatest foe;
Thus I was, when Jesus found me,
Filled with madness, sin and woe.
Yet in this forlorn condition,
When he came to see me free;
I replied, to my Physician,
What have I to do with thee?
But he would not be prevented,
Rescued me against my will;
Had he stayed till I consented,
I had been a captive still.
Satan, though thou fain wouldst have it,
Know this soul is none of thine;
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poem by John Newton
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