 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
XLIV. DESIRING DEATH.
Hymn 1.
To languish for his native air,
Can the poor wandering exile cease?
The tired his wish of rest forbear?
The tortured help desiring ease?
The slave no more for freedom sigh?
Or I no longer pine to die?
Can the poor wandering exile cease?
The tired his wish of rest forbear?
The tortured help desiring ease?
The slave no more for freedom sigh?
Or I no longer pine to die?
As shipwreck'd mariners desire
With eager grasp to reach the shore,
As hirelings long to' obtain their hire,
And veterans wish their warfare o'er,
I languish from this earth to flee,
And gasp for immortality.
With eager grasp to reach the shore,
As hirelings long to' obtain their hire,
And veterans wish their warfare o'er,
I languish from this earth to flee,
And gasp for immortality.
To heaven I lift my mournful eyes,
And all within me groans How long?
O were I landed in the skies!
The bitter loss, the cruel wrong
Should there no more my soul molest,
Or break my everlasting rest.
And all within me groans How long?
O were I landed in the skies!
The bitter loss, the cruel wrong
Should there no more my soul molest,
Or break my everlasting rest.
No faithless friend shall there be found
To mock me with his offers vain,
By deep ingratitude to wound,
To cause, and then upbraid my pain,
To leave me at my greatest need,
Or trample on my sinking head.
To mock me with his offers vain,
By deep ingratitude to wound,
To cause, and then upbraid my pain,
To leave me at my greatest need,
Or trample on my sinking head.
200
In that Jerusalem above,
No pain the happy spirit meets,
No sense of ill-requited love,
No sad complaining in their streets;
Crying, and curse, and death are o'er;
And there temptation is no more.
No pain the happy spirit meets,
No sense of ill-requited love,
No sad complaining in their streets;
Crying, and curse, and death are o'er;
And there temptation is no more.
O could I break this fleshly fence,
Drop all my sorrows in the tomb,
On angels' wings remove from hence,
And fly this happy moment home,
Quit the dark house of mouldering clay,
And launch into eternal day!
Drop all my sorrows in the tomb,
On angels' wings remove from hence,
And fly this happy moment home,
Quit the dark house of mouldering clay,
And launch into eternal day!
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |