A form of words, though e'er so sound,

A form of words, though e'er so sound,
Can never save a soul;
The Holy Ghost must give the wound,
And make the wounded whole.

Though God's election is a truth,
Small comfort there I see,
Till I am told by God's own mouth,
That he has chosen me.

Sinners, I read, are justified,
By faith in Jesus' blood;
But when to me that blood's applied,
'Tis then it does me good.

To perseverance I agree;
The thing to me is clear;
Because the Lord has promised me
That I shall persevere.

Imputed righteousness I own
A doctrine most divine;
For Jesus to my heart makes known
That all his merit's mine.

That Christ is God I can avouch,
And for his people cares,
Since I have prayed to him as such,
And he has heard my prayers.

That sinners black as hell, by Christ
Are saved, I know full well;
For I his mercy have not missed,
And I am black as hell.

Thus, Christians glorify the Lord,
His Spirit joins with ours
In bearing witness to his word,
With all its saving powers.