My Maker and My King

My Maker and My King

What a lofty hymn of praise this is! I found the following on Hymnary.org:

Anne Steele was the daughter of Particular Baptist preacher and timber merchant William Steele. She spent her entire life in Broughton, Hampshire, near the southern coast of England, and devoted much of her time to writing. Some accounts of her life portray her as a lonely, melancholy invalid, but a revival of research in the last decade indicates that she had been more active and social than what was previously thought. She was theologically conversant with Dissenting ministers and “found herself at the centre of a literary circle that included family members from various generations, as well as local literati.” She chose a life of singleness to focus on her craft. Before Christmas in 1742, she declined a marriage proposal from contemporary minister-hymnist Benjamin Beddome. All the same, some of Steele’s sufferings were very real. She lost her mother at age 3, a potential suitor at age 20, her step mom at 43, and her sister-in-law at 45. She spent many years caring for her father until his death in 1769. For most of her life, she exhibited symptoms of malaria, including persistent pain, fever, headaches, and stomach aches. Caleb Evans, in his preface to Steele’s posthumous (1780), noted that she had been bed ridden for “some years” before her death:

When the interesting hour came, she welcomed its arrival, and though her feeble body was excruciated with pain, her mind was perfectly serene. . . . She took the most affectionate leave of her weeping friends around her, and at length, the happy moment of her dismission arising, she closed her eyes, and with these animating words on her dying lips, “I know that my Redeemer liveth,” gently fell asleep in Jesus.

Lyrics:

My Maker and my King,
To Thee my all I owe;
Thy sovereign bounty is the spring
Whence all my blessings flow;
Thy sovereign bounty is the spring
Whence all my blessings flow.

2
The creature of Thy hand,
On Thee alone I live;
My God, Thy benefits demand
More praise than I can give.
My God, Thy benefits demand
More praise than I can give.

3
Lord, what can I impart
When all is Thine before?
Thy love demands a thankful heart;
The gift, alas! how poor.
Thy love demands a thankful heart;
The gift, alas! how poor.

4
O! let Thy grace inspire
My soul with strength divine;
Let every word each desire
And all my days be Thine.
Let every word each desire
And all my days be Thine.

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