The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Thou Man of Griefs, I fain would be
Perfectly conform'd to Thee:
Bestow the patient power,
The meekness of my injured Lamb,
And arm me for the fiery hour
Of suffering for Thy name.

197

Unknown to men, and meanly born,
Happy object of their scorn,
Content to live obscure,
And all things, but Thy favour, need,
And want, as my great Master poor,
A place to lay my head.

When call'd to testify Thy grace,
Set as adamant my face,
My steadfast heart prepare:
Rejected, and abhorr'd of men,
O might I all Thy burden bear,
And glory in Thy pain.

Such honour all Thy saints possess,
Sufferers for righteousness:
Such honour I have here;
But O! Thy righteousness I want,
I want to' endure till Thou appear,
And never, never faint.

Give me to triumph in Thy shame,
Branded with a madman's name,
A false, deceiving liar,
A winebibber, and glutton too,
I rise in sacred scandal higher,
And all Thy steps pursue.

The world that mock'd, and slander'd Thee,
Let them scorn and blacken me,
Pervert my good to evil,
(The lot my Lord did first receive,)
And falsely cry, he hath a devil,
And is not fit to live.

198

By bosom friends betray'd, forsook,
Let me to my Pattern look,
No human help desire,
But stand, secure without defence,
And force the heathen judge to' admire
My speechless innocence.

Let all in Satan's counsel join,
Jews and Gentiles both combine,
People and priests conspire
To drive me to my heavenly home,
And hoary Caiaphas require
The vile blasphemer's doom.

Happy, for ever happy I,
Sentenced on Thy cross to die!
But shall a sinner dare
Aspire to such a glorious grace?
Thou know'st I would Thy passion share,
And die to see Thy face.

I would for Thee my life resign,
Suffer in the strength Divine;
Through love's almighty power,
Would tread the path my Jesus trod,
And calmly meet the fiery hour,
Resisting unto blood.

Ah! let it not my Lord displease,
That I long for my release!
Thy mind to me be given,
Thy Spirit breathe within my heart,
And let my soul, by violence driven,
Into Thy arms depart.

199

Among the slaughter'd souls might I
Underneath the altar cry,
How long Thou True and Holy,
Dost Thou delay to' avenge our blood!
Come, Lord, and glorify us fully,
The martyr'd saints of God.

University of Virginia Library

XLIII. ANOTHER.

[Thou Man of Griefs, I fain would be]