The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Worn out with long fatigue, and pain,
Let my feeble flesh complain,
Or fail beneath its load;
My spirit shall superior rise,
Regaining swift her native skies,
And sooner reach her God.

Too long this corruptible clay
Clouded the ethereal ray,
And press'd my spirit down;
A gainer now by every loss,
I find in weariness a cross
That lifts me to a crown.

Of pain I now advantage make,
Meekly bear it for His sake,
Who suffer'd death for me:
To suffer death for Him I wait,
And pain shall open wide the gate
Of immortality.

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O blessed hope of lasting peace!
Let me lawfully decrease,
And sensibly decay:
Welcome whate'er my Lord ordain,
Disease, or weariness, or pain,
To hasten me away.

I come, with eager joy I come
To my everlasting home,
Where toil and sorrow end,
Where all my stores of grief shall fail,
And I no more in groans bewail
My poor departed friend.

In that Jerusalem above
All is harmony and love,
And joy without a sting:
The tears are banish'd from our eyes,
And not a single sigh can rise,
Where saints for ever sing.

O might I, from this dungeon freed,
Now lay down my weary head,
My mournful soul resign,
This moment meet the' appointed day,
And faint, and sink, and die away
Into the arms Divine.

University of Virginia Library

L. THE SAME. IN WEARINESS.

Hymn 7.