The Voices of Saints

Maybe it's because I'm graduating, or maybe I'm just tired, but I was just listeing to some RUF songs, and I wonder if we really hear the confessions and prayers we offer with these words:

Laden with guilt, and full of fear, I fly to thee, my Lord, and not a glimpse of hope appears, but in thy written word. The volumes of my father's grace does all my griefs assuage. Here I behold my savior's face in every page. This is the field where hidden lies the pearl of price unknown. That merchant is divinely wise who makes the pearl his own. Here consecrated water flows to quench my thirst of sin. Here the fair tree of knowledge grows; no danger dwells within. This is the judge who ends the strife where wit and reason fail, my guide to everlasting life through all this gloomy veil. Oh, may thy council, mighty God, my roving feet command; nor I forsake that happy road that leads to thy right hand.

Without thy sweet mercy I could not live here; sin would reduce me to utter dispair. But through thy free goodness my spirits revive, and he that first made me still keeps me alive. Thy mercy is more than a match for my heart, which wonders to feel its own hardness depart. Disolved by thy goodness, I fall to the ground, and weep to the praise of the mercy I've found.

The bride eyes not her garment, but her dear bridegrooms face. I will not gaze at glory, but on my king of grace. Not at the crown he giveth, but on his pierced hands. The lamb is all the glory of Emanuel's land.

The Church's one foundation is Jesus Christ, her Lord. She is His new creation by water and the Word. From heaven He came and sought her to be His holy bride; with His own blood He bought her, and for her life He died. Elect from every nation, yet one o'er all the earth, her charter of salvation, one Lord, one faith, one birth. One holy Name she blesses, partakes one holy food, and to one hope she presses,with every grace endued. Though with a scornful wonder men see her sore oppressed, by schisms rent asunder, by heresies distressed, yet saints their watch are keeping. Their cry goes up, "How long?" And soon the night of weeping shall be the morn of song. The church shall never perish, her dear Lord to defend, to guide, sustain and cherish, is with her to the end. Though there be those that hate her, and false sons in her pale, against a foe or traitor she ever shall prevail. Mid toil and tribulation, and tumult of her war, she waits the consummation of peace forevermore. 'Til, with the vision glorious her longing eyes are blessed, and the great church victorious shall be the church at rest. Yet she on earth hath union with God, the Three in One, and mystic sweet communion with those whose rest is won. O happy ones and holy! Lord, give us grace that we like them, the meek and lowly, on high may dwell with Thee.

Jesus, with Thy church, abide! Be her Savior, Lord, and Guide, while on earth her faith is tried: we beseech Thee, hear us, we beseech Thee, hear us. Keep her life and doctrine pure; grant her patience to endure, trusting in Thy promise sure: we beseech Thee, hear us, we beseech Thee, hear us. May she one in doctrine be, one in truth and charity, winning all to faith in Thee: we beseech Thee, hear us, we beseech Thee, hear us. May she guide the poor and blind, seek the lost until she find, and the brokenhearted bind: we beseech Thee, hear us, we beseech Thee, hear us.

Do these words bring tears to your eyes? Tonight, they did me.