The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

O God of love, to whom I pray,
Wilt Thou let me fall away
And lose Thy mercies past?
Must I in vain for pardon cry,
And perish in my sins, and die,
Die, in my sins at last?

473

Were this Thy will concerning me,
Wherefore have I follow'd Thee,
And long'd Thy love to know?
Why hast Thou from my earliest days
Allured my soul to seek Thy face,
If made for endless woe?

Why did Thy providential power
Interpose in danger's hour,
And still the victim save?
So oft the mortal fever chide,
And turn the dart of death aside,
And mock the gaping grave?

Why didst Thou in my youthful age
Rescue me from passion's rage,
And every dire offence?
Why didst Thou hide from worldly cares,
And keep in twice ten thousand snares
My heedless innocence?

Why didst Thou gently draw me on,
Till I sunk despairing down
In legal misery?
And cried, by the commandment slain,
Ah! woe is me, a wretched man,
What hope of heaven for me!

Why didst Thou, Lord, my load remove,
Show me Thy forgiving love,
And speak me justified?
If Thou hast pleasure in my death,
I had long since resign'd my breath;
I had in Egypt died.

474

When I had forfeited my peace,
Why in my extreme distress
Was I so often heard?
Thou brought'st the timely succours in,
And savedst my tempted soul from sin,
The sin I loved, and fear'd.

Why hast Thou to Thy people join'd
Me, the vilest of mankind,
In cordial charity?
Why hast Thou heard Thy Spirit's groans
Entreating in Thy chosen ones
For me, O God, for me?

Wouldst Thou have stirr'd them up to pray
For an hopeless castaway,
If such, alas! I am?
If I must perish in my blood,
Wrestle for me they never could,
Or ask in Jesu's name.

A drop of love's eternal sea
Is their kind concern for me;
As such I must receive
This token of my Father's grace,
His heart o'erflows with tenderness,
And God would have me live.

Me, Lord, Thou never wilt forsake,
Never let my soul turn back,
To live the life of sense;
To bring dishonour on Thy name,
But save me first from all my shame,
And snatch my spirit hence.

475

I feel, I now divinely feel,
Thou, O Lord, art with me still,
And with me wilt abide:
Till life's extremest ills are past,
And I obtain a lot at last
With all the glorified.

University of Virginia Library

CVII. THE SAME.

Hymn 8.

[O God of love, to whom I pray]