 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
XXXVI. THE SAME. FOR MIDNIGHT.
Hymn 8.
At this solemn noon of night,
Lo! I rise to sing Thy praise,
All Thy judgments, Lord, are right,
True, and holy all Thy ways:
Dark, and grievous though they be,
Just are all Thy ways to me.
Lo! I rise to sing Thy praise,
All Thy judgments, Lord, are right,
True, and holy all Thy ways:
Dark, and grievous though they be,
Just are all Thy ways to me.
Glory to the God unknown!
Chasten'd from my infant years,
Thy afflictive love I own,
Mingle praises with my tears,
Bless Thee for my troubles past,
Calmly wait to feel the last.
Chasten'd from my infant years,
Thy afflictive love I own,
Mingle praises with my tears,
Bless Thee for my troubles past,
Calmly wait to feel the last.
Thee I awfully adore,
Bruised by Thy severest rod;
Strengthen me to suffer more,
Still increase my heaviest load,
Child of sorrow from the womb
Send me weeping to the tomb.
Bruised by Thy severest rod;
Strengthen me to suffer more,
Still increase my heaviest load,
Child of sorrow from the womb
Send me weeping to the tomb.
Still in weariness, and pain,
Will I a sad vigil keep;
Lift my mournful eyes again,
Only wake, to pray, and weep;
To my midnight task return,
Bless Thee for my power to mourn.
Will I a sad vigil keep;
Lift my mournful eyes again,
Only wake, to pray, and weep;
To my midnight task return,
Bless Thee for my power to mourn.
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O how gracious is Thy love,
Thus to strip me of my joy!
All my comforts to remove,
All my idols to destroy,
Forced by stress of misery
Happiness to seek in Thee.
Thus to strip me of my joy!
All my comforts to remove,
All my idols to destroy,
Forced by stress of misery
Happiness to seek in Thee.
Wounded in the tenderest part,
Spoil'd of all my friends below,
Can I thank Thee from my heart,
Bless the Hand that deals the blow?
Lord, beneath Thy hand I bow;
What Thou dost I know not now.
Spoil'd of all my friends below,
Can I thank Thee from my heart,
Bless the Hand that deals the blow?
Lord, beneath Thy hand I bow;
What Thou dost I know not now.
Yet I can Thy mercy praise,
Doom'd my chastening here to feel
That I with the godless race
May not be adjudged to hell;
Lord, for this my thanks receive,
Wretched out of hell, I live.
Doom'd my chastening here to feel
That I with the godless race
May not be adjudged to hell;
Lord, for this my thanks receive,
Wretched out of hell, I live.
Of his earthly all bereft
Should a living man complain?
Or have I a blessing left?
Take that blessing back again,
Now my latest good remove,
Give me but at last Thy love.
Should a living man complain?
Or have I a blessing left?
Take that blessing back again,
Now my latest good remove,
Give me but at last Thy love.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |