Mercy still reserved for me?
Can my God His wrath forbear,
Me, the chief of sinners, spare?
I have long withstood His grace,
Long provoked Him to His face,
Would not hearken to His calls,
Grieved Him by a thousand falls.
Kindled His relentings are:
Me He now delights to spare;
Cries, “How shall I give thee up?”
Lets the lifted thunder drop.
There for me the Savior stands,
Shows His wounds and spreads His hands.
God is Love; I know, I feel;
Jesus weeps, but loves me still. ―Charles Wesley