Come, My Soul, Thy Suit Prepare

Come, my soul, thy suit pre­pare,
Jesus loves to ans­wer pray­er;
He Him­self has bid thee pray,
Therefore will not say thee nay.

Thou art com­ing to a king,
Large pe­ti­tions with thee bring;
For His grace and pow­er are such,
None can ev­er ask too much.

With my bur­den I be­gin,
Lord, re­move this load of sin!
Let Thy blood, for sin­ners spilt,
Set my con­science free from guilt.

Lord! I come to Thee for rest,
Take pos­ses­sion of my breast;
There Thy blood bought right main­tain,
And with­out a ri­val reign.

As the im­age in the glass
Answers the be­hold­er’s face;
Thus un­to my heart ap­pear,
Print Thine own re­sem­blance there.

While I am a pil­grim here,
Let Thy love my spir­it cheer;
As my guide, my guard, my friend,
Lead me to my jour­ney’s end.

Show me what I have to do,
Every hour my strength re­new;
Let me live a life of faith,
Let me die Thy peo­ple’s death.

Words: John Newton, 1779.