442. S. M. Watts. Abba, Father. 1 Behold, what wondrous grace The Father has bestowed On sinners of a mortal race, To call them sons of God! 2 Nor doth it yet appear How great we must be made; But when we see our Saviour here, We shall be like our Head. 3 A hope so much divine May trials well endure; May purify our souls from sin, As Christ, the Lord, is pure. 4 We would no longer lie Like slaves beneath the throne; Our faith shall Abba, Father, cry, And thou the kindred own.
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