Rock of ages, cleft for me,
let me hide myself in thee.
There are no mathematics to the spiritual life. Subtract all you want; surrender your possessions to the poor, and wear only the most moth-ridden clothes, and your petite penance will not earn you badges of heavenly faith. One season of suffering plus a servant’s humble heart does not earn you fruit. I thought that my burning anger at my sin and situation would enhance my standing before a Holy God, but found only echoing solitude in my self-righteous indignation.
Not the labors of my hands
can fulfill thy law’s commands;
could my zeal no respite know,
could my tears forever flow,
all for sin could not atone;
thou must save, and thou alone.
Rather,
Nothing in my hand I bring,
simply to the cross I cling;
naked, come to thee for dress;
helpless, look to thee for grace;
foul, I to the fountain fly;
wash me, Savior, or I die.
Kneel on the level ground before the cross.
While I draw this fleeting breath,
when mine eyes shall close in death,
when I soar to worlds unknown,
see thee on thy judgment throne,
Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
let me hide myself in thee.
Hide inside of Jesus. Be washed by the cleansing blood of the Lamb.
Today I am reminded of the gospel.
Today I am thankful for the gospel.
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