 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
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| II. |
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| CXIII. |
| CXIV. |
| CXV. |
| CXVI. |
| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
| CXXXIII. |
| CXXXIV. |
| CXXXV. |
| CXXXVI. |
| CXXXVII. |
| CXXXVIII. |
| CXXXIX. |
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
| CXLII. |
| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CXLVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
| CLIII. | CLIII. THE SAME.
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| CLIV. |
| CLV. |
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| CLXIX. |
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| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
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| CLXXXIX. |
| CXC. |
| CXCI. |
| CXCII. |
| CXCIII. |
| CXCIV. |
| CXCV. |
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| CC. |
| CCI. |
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| CCVI. |
| CCVII. |
| CCVIII. |
| CCIX. |
| II. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
CLIII. THE SAME.
Hymn 41.
[How truly bless'd]
How truly bless'd
The soul distress'd
That can pour out a prayer
Into his Redeemer's breast,
And tell Him all his care.
The soul distress'd
That can pour out a prayer
Into his Redeemer's breast,
And tell Him all his care.
O when shall I
Find power to cry,
A never-failing power!
Send me succour from the sky,
In my distressing hour.
Find power to cry,
A never-failing power!
Send me succour from the sky,
In my distressing hour.
For this alone
I make my moan,
But want that grief sincere:
Let me in Thy Spirit groan,
Till Thou my God appear.
I make my moan,
But want that grief sincere:
Let me in Thy Spirit groan,
Till Thou my God appear.
Thee, Jesus, Thee
I long to see,
To tell Thee my desire;
Help my soul's infirmity,
And grant what I require.
I long to see,
To tell Thee my desire;
Help my soul's infirmity,
And grant what I require.
I ask not ease
In my distress,
But till the pain is o'er
Let me pray, and never cease:
I ask, I want no more.
In my distress,
But till the pain is o'er
Let me pray, and never cease:
I ask, I want no more.
61
What shall I say
Who cannot pray,
Or how my Lord conjure?
Let Thy death the grace convey,
And all my hardness cure.
Who cannot pray,
Or how my Lord conjure?
Let Thy death the grace convey,
And all my hardness cure.
Canst Thou forget
Thy bloody sweat,
Thy agony of passion,
Thy extended hands and feet,
Thy dying exclamation?
Thy bloody sweat,
Thy agony of passion,
Thy extended hands and feet,
Thy dying exclamation?
To Thee alone
The grief is known
Which Thou for me didst bear;
Let it break my heart of stone,
And melt me into prayer.
The grief is known
Which Thou for me didst bear;
Let it break my heart of stone,
And melt me into prayer.
The sight display
Which turn'd the day
Into a night of fears,
Made the sun shrink in his ray,
And shook the frighted spheres.
Which turn'd the day
Into a night of fears,
Made the sun shrink in his ray,
And shook the frighted spheres.
Thee, Saviour, Thee
Could I but see
As for my sins expire,
Surely that must raise in me
The penitent desire.
Could I but see
As for my sins expire,
Surely that must raise in me
The penitent desire.
Thy body torn,
Thy soul forlorn,
Must strengthen my petition,
Force my stubbornness to mourn
In tears of true contrition.
Thy soul forlorn,
Must strengthen my petition,
Force my stubbornness to mourn
In tears of true contrition.
Now, Lord, appear,
As slaughter'd here,
In Thy last conflict crying—
O 'Tis done!—I see Him near,
My Love, my Jesus dying!
As slaughter'd here,
62
O 'Tis done!—I see Him near,
My Love, my Jesus dying!
I feel applied
The crimson tide,
That makes my conscience pure,
Saviour, keep me in Thy side,
And all my heaven is sure.
The crimson tide,
That makes my conscience pure,
Saviour, keep me in Thy side,
And all my heaven is sure.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |