The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Ah, what a wretch am I!
I cannot watch one hour:
The roaring lion still is nigh,
And ready to devour:
A constant watch he keeps,
He eyes me night and day,
And never slumbers, never sleeps,
Lest he should lose his prey.

The world are always nigh,
And for my halting wait,
The Philistines in ambush lie,
On me to wreak their hate:

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They watch my every turn,
They mark where'er I go,
Their malice not to sleep hath sworn
Till it hath kill'd their foe.

The Delilah within
Ready each moment stands
To give me up, fast bound by sin,
Into their cruel hands:
I slight my Saviour's aid,
Take my destroyer's part,
And still am falling, self-betray'd
By my own faithless heart.

How weak my heart and blind,
That I can think of ease,
Can comfort for a moment find
In such a state as this!
Can fold my arms to sleep,
Nor pain nor horror feel,
While sinking swift into the deep,
And dropping into hell.

Gracious Redeemer shake
This slumber from my soul,
Say to me now, Awake, awake,
And Christ shall make thee whole:
Lay to Thy mighty hand,
Alarm me in this hour,
And make me fully understand
The thunder of Thy power.

Give me on Thee to call,
Always to watch and pray,
Lest I into temptation fall,
And cast my shield away:

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For each assault prepared,
And ready may I be,
For ever standing on my guard,
And looking up to Thee.

O! do Thou always warn
My soul of evil near,
When to the right or left I turn,
The Witness let me hear,
“Come back; this is the way:
Come back, and walk herein:”
O may I hearken, and obey,
And shun the paths of sin.

I would from every sin
As from a serpent fly,
Abhor to touch the thing unclean,
And rather choose to die.
I would, I would my last
This very moment breathe,
Would die, that I may never taste
Of sin, and second death.

Thou seest my feebleness,
Jesus, be Thou my power:
My help, and refuge in distress,
My fortress and my tower:
Cause me to trust in Thee,
Be Thou my sure abode,
My horn, and rock, and buckler be,
My Saviour, and my God.

Myself I cannot save,
Myself I cannot keep;
But strength in Thee I surely have,
Whose eyelids never sleep.

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My soul to Thee alone
Now therefore I commend;
Thou, Jesus, having loved Thine own,
Shalt love me to the end.

University of Virginia Library

LXXXV. THE SAME.

Hymn 2.

[Ah, what a wretch am I!]