Jesus sought me when a stranger

I long to reclaim a toddler's spirit of faith. All it takes to make a beautiful day, peace and safety, is Papa. My niece, Susan, here ignores the cold floor, the lack of a proper bed to sleep in at night, and a dozen other comforts she might have desired, if she had thought of them. But her gaze is fixed upon her Papa. She finds all the beauty, peace, safety and comfort she desires there in his eyes.

Through the daily sufferings and disappointments, may my eyes never be removed from the face of my Father. O to grace, how great a debtor! Daily I'm constrained to be. Grace that brought me home for eternity through the Cross. Grace that preserved my life through the latest surgery and infection. Grace that knows every day between my beginning and end. How His kindness yet pursues me, mortal tongue can never tell; clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me, I cannot proclaim it well.

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise his Name, I’m fixed upon it,
Name of Thy redeeming love.

Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I'll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.
~ Come Thou Fount, Robert Robinson, written at age 22 in 1757 ~