The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Hear then the pleading Spirit's prayer,
(The Spirit's will to Thee is known,)
For all who now Thy sufferings share,
And still for full redemption groan.

Poor tempted souls, with tempests toss'd,
And strangers to a moment's peace;
Disconsolate, afflicted, lost,
Lost in an howling wilderness.

Torn with an endless war within,
Vex'd with the flesh and Spirit's strife,
And struggling in the toils of sin,
And agonizing into life.

O! let the prisoners' mournful cries
As incense in Thy sight appear!
Their humble wailings pierce the skies,
If haply they may feel Thee near.

The captive exiles make their moans,
From sin impatient to be free:
Call home, call home Thy banish'd ones!
Lead captive their captivity!

Show them the blood that bought their peace,
The anchor of their steadfast hope;
And bid their guilty terrors cease,
And bring the ransom'd prisoners up.

Out of the deep regard their cries,
The fallen raise, the mourners cheer;
O Sun of Righteousness, arise,
And scatter all their doubt, and fear!

232

Pity the day of feeble things:
O! gather every halting soul,
And drop salvation from Thy wings,
And make the contrite sinner whole.

Stand by them in the fiery hour,
Their feebleness of mind defend;
And in their weakness show Thy power,
And make them patient to the end.

O! satisfy their soul in drought;
Give them Thy saving health to see,
And let Thy mercy find them out;
And let Thy mercy reach to me.

Hast Thou the work of grace begun,
And brought them to the birth in vain?
O let Thy children see the sun!
Let all their souls be born again.

Relieve the souls whose cross we bear,
For whom Thy suffering members mourn;
Answer our faith's effectual prayer:
Bid every struggling child be born.

Hark, how Thy turtle-dove complains,
And see us weep for Sion's woe!
Pity Thy suffering people's pains;
Avenge us of our inbred foe.

Whom Thou hast bound, O Lord, expel,
And take his armour all away;
The man of sin, the child of hell,
The devil in our nature slay.

Him, and his works at once destroy,
The being of all sin erase,
And turn our mourning into joy,
And clothe us with the robes of praise.

233

Then, when our sufferings all are past,
O! let us pure and perfect be,
And gain our calling's prize at last,
For ever sanctified in Thee.

University of Virginia Library

LXIII. THE SAME.

Hymn 3.

[O most compassionate High-Priest]