His mercies far and deep and wide,
His common grace He does not hide
but from His purse full at His side
gets every man a piece.
His wrath is reconciled to wait
while His love can be displayed,
so granted-faith won’t lack her mate,
repentance, gift from God.
Here common grace and special meet,
His props to hand us to His seat
of mercy, throne of grace we need,
dyed with the precious blood.
The blood-touched conscience looks serene
through opened eyes at forest green
or stares up at the heavenly scene,
appreciates His art.
