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| XIII. |
 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
XXIII. DESIRING TO PRAY.
Hymn 1.
O that I could but pray!
How gladly should I bear
The burden of this evil day
With the support of prayer!
Happy, could I but tell
To God my inward woe,
My depth of wickedness reveal,
My height of trouble show.
How gladly should I bear
The burden of this evil day
With the support of prayer!
Happy, could I but tell
To God my inward woe,
My depth of wickedness reveal,
My height of trouble show.
Alas, He knows it all,
My whole of sin and grief;
Yet O, for help I cannot call,
I cannot ask relief:
Mountains on mountains rise,
And quite block up the way;
O that I could but lift my eyes,
O that I could but pray!
My whole of sin and grief;
Yet O, for help I cannot call,
I cannot ask relief:
Mountains on mountains rise,
And quite block up the way;
O that I could but lift my eyes,
O that I could but pray!
I struggle still, and fain
I would throw off my load,
Stir myself up, and strive again
To apprehend my God:
Farther He doth from me,
And farther still depart;
In vain I bow my feeble knee,
But not my stubborn heart.
I would throw off my load,
Stir myself up, and strive again
To apprehend my God:
Farther He doth from me,
And farther still depart;
In vain I bow my feeble knee,
But not my stubborn heart.
My heart, alas, is dead,
Or unconcern'd it sleeps,
Or starts, of its own wish afraid,
And contradicts my lips;
Or with suggestions fraught
Too horrible to bear,
Breaks off the suit, to' escape the thought
Of blasphemous despair.
Or unconcern'd it sleeps,
Or starts, of its own wish afraid,
And contradicts my lips;
171
Too horrible to bear,
Breaks off the suit, to' escape the thought
Of blasphemous despair.
Ah, whither, or to whom
Shall I for succour fly!
My Saviour bids the weary come,
Yet do I not draw nigh:
I would (but all in vain)
To Him my wants display:
My heart abhors the fruitless pain,
I cannot, cannot pray.
Shall I for succour fly!
My Saviour bids the weary come,
Yet do I not draw nigh:
I would (but all in vain)
To Him my wants display:
My heart abhors the fruitless pain,
I cannot, cannot pray.
But shall I then depart,
And cast away my hope,
Yield to a wretched, faithless heart,
And give my Saviour up?
No, no! that killing thought
Is worse than all I feel;
Still let me seek, though clean forgot,
And want my Saviour still.
And cast away my hope,
Yield to a wretched, faithless heart,
And give my Saviour up?
No, no! that killing thought
Is worse than all I feel;
Still let me seek, though clean forgot,
And want my Saviour still.
Dead as I am to God,
I will not Him forego,
But patiently take up my load,
And suffer all my woe:
For ever will I lie
Before His mercy-seat,
Though not allow'd with Mary I
To wash, and kiss His feet.
I will not Him forego,
But patiently take up my load,
And suffer all my woe:
For ever will I lie
Before His mercy-seat,
Though not allow'd with Mary I
To wash, and kiss His feet.
In quiet, calm distress
Will I my cross sustain,
Content to sigh for happiness,
And strive to pray,—in vain!
Unless He from His throne
The speechless mourner hear,
The deep, unutterable groan,
The loudly silent tear.
Will I my cross sustain,
Content to sigh for happiness,
And strive to pray,—in vain!
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The speechless mourner hear,
The deep, unutterable groan,
The loudly silent tear.
He hears, He hears it now!
The anguish not express'd,
The struggle of my soul to bow,
And fall upon His breast!
Silence a voice hath found,
A cry is in the void,
Through earth and heaven my woes resound,
And pierce the ears of God.
The anguish not express'd,
The struggle of my soul to bow,
And fall upon His breast!
Silence a voice hath found,
A cry is in the void,
Through earth and heaven my woes resound,
And pierce the ears of God.
Believing against hope,
I will expect His grace,
Through all the clouds of sin look up,
And wait to see His face:
Forgotten though I seem,
He knows what I would say;
The darkness is not dark to Him,
The night is clear as day.
I will expect His grace,
Through all the clouds of sin look up,
And wait to see His face:
Forgotten though I seem,
He knows what I would say;
The darkness is not dark to Him,
The night is clear as day.
I dare no longer doubt
His readiness to save;
Will Jesus therefore cast me out,
Because no good I have?
To sinners truly poor
Will God Himself deny!
He cannot cast me out—no more
Than He again can die!
His readiness to save;
Will Jesus therefore cast me out,
Because no good I have?
To sinners truly poor
Will God Himself deny!
He cannot cast me out—no more
Than He again can die!
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |