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| LIX. |
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| LXII. |
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| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
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| CII. |
| CIII. |
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| CVI. |
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| CIX. |
| CX. |
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| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
| CXXXIII. |
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| CXXXVIII. |
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| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CXLVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
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| CLXIII. |
| CLXIV. |
| CLXV. |
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| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
192
XL. THE SAME.
Hymn 12.
[Why should a living child of man]
Why should a living child of man
Beneath the scourge repine,
Or dare with impious grief to' arraign
The righteousness Divine?
Why should I murmur at my load,
And farther still rebel,
So lightly chasten'd by my God,
And not thrust down to hell?
Beneath the scourge repine,
Or dare with impious grief to' arraign
The righteousness Divine?
Why should I murmur at my load,
And farther still rebel,
So lightly chasten'd by my God,
And not thrust down to hell?
What are the sorest plagues I bear
To those the damn'd sustain?
What is my temporal despair
To their eternal pain?
My sins demand their dreadful hire,
My sins for vengeance call,
And short of that infernal fire
'Tis grace and mercy all.
To those the damn'd sustain?
What is my temporal despair
To their eternal pain?
My sins demand their dreadful hire,
My sins for vengeance call,
And short of that infernal fire
'Tis grace and mercy all.
What though my soul with shame is fill'd,
My heart o'erwhelm'd with dread,
What though my tender joys are kill'd,
And every comfort fled;
What though my darling Isaac I
Am forced to offer up,
And live, when all my blessings die,
And drink the bitterest cup:
My heart o'erwhelm'd with dread,
What though my tender joys are kill'd,
And every comfort fled;
What though my darling Isaac I
Am forced to offer up,
And live, when all my blessings die,
And drink the bitterest cup:
Shall I resent my slighted love,
Or mourn my murder'd fame,
Worthy the hate of all above,
And everlasting shame!
The loss of one weak, faithless friend,
Still, still shall I bemoan,
When God, whose favours never end,
May yet be all my own?
Or mourn my murder'd fame,
Worthy the hate of all above,
And everlasting shame!
193
Still, still shall I bemoan,
When God, whose favours never end,
May yet be all my own?
God of my life, to Thy decree
I humbly now submit,
Accept my punishment from Thee,
And tremble at Thy feet:
Whate'er Thy will inflicts I take,
Till all Thy plagues are past;
But while my soul I render back,
O give me peace at last.
I humbly now submit,
Accept my punishment from Thee,
And tremble at Thy feet:
Whate'er Thy will inflicts I take,
Till all Thy plagues are past;
But while my soul I render back,
O give me peace at last.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |