Be Gone Unbelief

Written by John Newton in 1803

Be gone, unbelief;
my Savior is near,
and for my relief
will surely appear;
by prayer let me wrestle,
and he will perform;
with Christ in the vessel,
I smile at the storm.

Though dark be my way,
since he is my guide,
'tis mine to obey,
'tis his to provide;
though cisterns be broken
and creatures all fail,
the word he has spoken
shall surely prevail.

His love in time past
forbids me to think
he'll leave me at last
in trouble to sink;
while each Ebenezer
I have in review
confirms his good pleasure
to help me quite through.

Why should I complain
of want or distress,
temptation or pain?
He told me no less;
the heirs of salvation,
I know from his word,
through much tribulation
must follow their Lord.

How bitter that cup,
no heart can conceive,
which he drank right up
that sinners might live;
his way was much rougher
and darker than mine;
did Jesus thus suffer,
and shall I repine?

Since all that I meet
shall work for my good,
the bitter is sweet,
the medicine, food;
though painful at present,
'twill cease before long;
and then, O how pleasant
the conqueror's song!


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I could not find this poem set to any tune in any hymnal on-line nor in my home.  So, I did the next best thing.  I set it to music myself.  (Note: I have since found that Indelible Grace has a version.)

New version: 6pm, 23-Mar-2020

I Asked the Lord That I Might Grow

John Newton

by John Newton

I asked the Lord that I might grow
In faith, and love, and every grace;
Might more of His salvation know,
And seek, more earnestly, His face.

’Twas He who taught me thus to pray,
And He, I trust, has answered prayer!
But it has been in such a way,
As almost drove me to despair.

I hoped that in some favored hour,
At once He’d answer my request;
And by His love’s constraining pow’r,
Subdue my sins, and give me rest.

Instead of this, He made me feel
The hidden evils of my heart;
And let the angry pow’rs of hell
Assault my soul in every part.

Yea more, with His own hand He seemed
Intent to aggravate my woe;
Crossed all the fair designs I schemed,
Blasted my gourds, and laid me low.

Lord, why is this, I trembling cried,
Wilt thou pursue thy worm to death?
“ ’Tis in this way,” the Lord replied,
“I answer prayer for grace and faith.

These inward trials I employ,
From self, and pride, to set thee free;
And break thy schemes of earthly joy,
That thou may’st find thy all in Me.”

“I Asked The Lord” — by Indelible Grace