Himne Indonesia

Ratapan 3:55

Himne Inggris

Ratapan 3:55

• [Rat 3:55] This My Plea

  What I am, Thine eye can see, Yet I come, O Lord, to Thee. Though my sins are crimson red, Yet for me Thy blood was shed. Refrain This my plea, my only plea: Through Thy off’ring once for me, I may cast myself on Thee, Jesus, my Redeemer. As I am, I seek Thy face, Kneeling at the door of grace; O forgive this heart of mine, Cleanse me now and seal me Thine. Refrain As I am, O blessèd Lord, I believe and trust Thy Word; Let my soul no longer roam, Take, O take the wand’rer home. Refrain Lost, but found, my sins forgiv’n, Child of God and heir of Heav’n; Lost, but found, what joy is mine! Thou dost cleanse and keep me Thine. Refrain

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  source: Cyberhymnal

Ratapan 1:12-13

• [Rat 1:12] All Ye That Pass By

  All ye that pass by, To Jesus draw nigh: To you is it nothing that Jesus should die? Your ransom and peace, Your surety He is: Come, see if there ever was sorrow like His. For what you have done His blood must atone: The Father hath punished for you His dear Son. The Lord, in the day Of His anger, did lay Your sins on the Lamb, and He bore them away. He answered for all: O come at His call, And low at His cross with astonishment fall! But lift up your eyes At Jesus’ cries: Impassive, He suffers; immortal, He dies. He dies to atone For sins not His own; Your debt He hath paid, and your work He hath done. Ye all may receive The peace He did leave, Who made intercession, “My Father, forgive!” For you and for me He prayed on the tree: The prayer is accepted, the sinner is free. That sinner am I, Who on Jesus rely, And come for the pardon God cannot deny. My pardon I claim; For a sinner I am, A sinner believing in Jesus’ Name. He purchased the grace Which now I embrace: O Father, Thou know’st He hath died in my place. His death is my plea; My Advocate see, And hear the blood speak that hath answered for me. My ransom He was When He bled on the cross; And losing His life He hath carried my cause.

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  source: Cyberhymnal

• [Rat 1:12] My Savior! I Behold Thy Life

  My Savior! I behold Thy life Of not one smile and many tears; I mark the spiritual strife, Thy human woes, Thy human fears, And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine, Or debt of sin so vast as mine?” I watch Thine agonizing hour, I see Thee by Thine own betrayed, Alone in Pilate’s craven power, And scourged and scornfully arrayed, And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine Or debt of sin so vast as mine?” I see Thee fainting on Thy way, Reviled and mocked of all the throng, I hear the bitter words they say, The abject’s sneer, the drunkard’s song, And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine, Or debt of sin so vast as mine?” That sin in every taunt I hear, And see in every look of scorn; It is the Cross which Thou dost bear, The sharpness of Thy crown of thorn: Dear Lord, “Was ever grief like Thine, Or debt of sin so vast as mine?” My Savior, I behold Thy death, I hear Thy cries, Thy last words seven, I see the scowling gaze beneath, Above, the darkened face of Heaven, And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine, Or debt of sin so vast as mine?” My Savior, I behold Thy grave In that still garden’s awful gloom, I see Thee lying there to save My soul from an eternal tomb, And cry, “Was ever grief like Thine, Or debt of sin so vast as mine?” And yet with all I hear and see Of Death, or Passion of Thy life, Sweet hopes are ministered to me And voices fall with comfort rife, That say, “Because He lived and died, From sin thou canst be purified!”

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  source: Cyberhymnal

Ratapan 3:24

• [Rat 3:24] My Heart Is Resting, O My God

  My heart is resting, O my God— I will give thanks and sing; My heart is at the secret source Of every precious thing. Now the frail vessel Thou hast made No hand but Thine shall fill— For the waters of the Earth have failed, And I am thirsty still. I thirst for springs of heavenly life, And here all day they rise— I seek the treasure of Thy love, And close at hand it lies. And a new song is in my mouth To long loved music set— Glory to Thee for all the grace I have not tasted yet. Glory to Thee for strength withheld, For want and weakness known— And the fear that sends me to Thy breast For what is most my own. I have a heritage of joy That yet I must not see; But the hand that bled to make it mine Is keeping it for me. There is a certainty of love That sets my heart at rest— A calm assurance for today That to be poor is best— A prayer reposing on His truth Who hath made all things mine, That draws my captive will to Him, And makes it one with Thine. I will give thanks for suffering now, For want and toil and loss— For the death that sin makes hard and slow, Upon my Savior’s cross— Thanks for the little spring of love That gives me strength to say, If they will leave me part in Him, Let all things pass away. Sometimes I long for promised bliss, But it will not come too late— And the songs of patient spirits rise From the place wherein I wait; While in the faith that makes no haste My soul has time to see A kneeling host of Thy redeemed, In fellowship with me. There is a multitude around Responsive to my prayer; I hear the voice of my desire Resounding everywhere. But the earnest of eternal joy, In every prayer I trace; I see the glory of the Lord: On every chastened face. How oft, in still communion known, Those spirits have been sent To share the travail of my soul, Or show me what it meant! And I long to do some work of love No spoiling hand could touch, For the poor and suffering of Thy flock Who comfort me so much. But the yearning thought is mingled now With the thankful song I sing; For Thy people know the secret source Of every precious thing. The heart that ministers for Thee In Thy own work will rest; And the subject spirit of a child Can serve Thy children best. Mine be the reverent, listening love, That waits all day on Thee, With the service of a watchful heart Which no one else can see— The faith that, in a hidden way No other eye may know, Finds all its daily work prepared, And loves to have it so. My heart is resting, O my God, My heart is in Thy care— I hear the voice of joy and health Resounding everywhere. “Thou art my portion,” saith my soul, Ten thousand voices say, And the music of their glad Amen, Will never die away.

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  source: Cyberhymnal