Welcome Home!

Come, Thou Fount of ev’ry blessing, tune my heart to sing Thy grace. Streams of mercy never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise. Teach me some melodious sonnet, sung by flaming tongues above. Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it Mount of God’s unchanging love.

 Here I raise my Ebenezer; hither by Thy help I’m come. And I hope, by Thy good pleasure safely to arrive at home. Jesus sought me when a stranger, wand’ring from the fold of God. He, to rescue me from danger, interposed His precious blood.

O to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be! Let Thy grace, like a fetter, bind my yielded heart to Thee. Let me know Thee in Thy fullness; guide me to Thy mighty hand till, transformed, in Thine own image, in Thy presence I shall stand.

Robert Robinson was born on September 27, 1735, in Norfolk, to Michael and Mary. Michael died when Robert was 5 years old.  His mother’s father, Robert, was a wealthy man and could never understand why Mary married beneath her means and disinherited his grandson, leaving him less than a dollar. Robert had an uncle who helped send him to school. Robert learned under Reverend Brett, and liked to study about church history and baptisms. At age 14, he accepted an apprenticeship in London as a hairdresser, and in his spare time he was avid reader. In May 1752, Robert began to think about becoming a Christian, but would be a Christian until December 10, 1755. He wrote about his conversion in Latin. He wrote “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”  In 1759, Robert married Ellen Payne and they had 12 children, and lived in Cambridge. In 1773, he bought a piece of land (80 acres; near a river) and farmed the land until he had saved enough money to build a house big enough for his family. In 1775, he was able to build the house. By 1782, he had purchased more land totaling 171 acres and opened a mercantile. Three years later he transferred the land and mercantile to a son-in-law. After the unexpected death of their youngest daughter, seventeen-year-old, Julia, Robert went to a severe depression and pecuniary anxiety. While on a stage coach with other passengers, a woman called attention to his hymn to which he stated, “Madam, I am the poor, unhappy man who wrote that hymn many years ago, and I would give a thousand worlds, if I had them, to enjoy the feelings I had then.” On June 9, 1790, Robert passed away in his sleep, at the age of 54.