 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
|
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
| CXLII. |
| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. | CXLVII. THE SAME.
|
| CXLVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
| CLIII. |
| CLIV. |
| CLV. |
| CLVI. |
| CLVII. |
| CLVIII. |
| CLIX. |
| CLX. |
|
| CLXVI. |
| CLXVII. |
|
| CLXXI. |
| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
| CLXXVII. |
| CLXXVIII. |
| CLXXIX. |
| CLXXX. |
| CLXXXI. |
| CLXXXII. |
| CLXXXIII. |
| CLXXXIV. |
| CLXXXV. |
| CLXXXVI. |
| CLXXXVII. |
| CLXXXVIII. |
| CLXXXIX. |
| CXC. |
|
| CCXLVI. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
CXLVII. THE SAME.
Hymn 8.
[Happy we who trust in Jesus!]
Happy we who trust in Jesus!
Jesus turns our loss to gain:
Still His balmy mercies ease us,
Sweeten all our grief and pain:
When He calls our friends to' inherit
All the glories of the bless'd,
He assures the widow'd spirit
Thou shalt quickly be at rest.
Jesus turns our loss to gain:
Still His balmy mercies ease us,
Sweeten all our grief and pain:
When He calls our friends to' inherit
All the glories of the bless'd,
He assures the widow'd spirit
Thou shalt quickly be at rest.
For their dead, the heathen mourning
No relief like this can have,
Hopeless of their late returning
From the all-devouring grave:
But the God of consolation
Whispers better things to me,
I shall share the full salvation,
I the church above shall see.
No relief like this can have,
Hopeless of their late returning
From the all-devouring grave:
But the God of consolation
Whispers better things to me,
I shall share the full salvation,
I the church above shall see.
Though my flesh and spirit languish,
Can I of my lot complain!
Sure at last to' outlive the anguish,
Sure to find my friend again:
Ransom'd from a world of sorrow,
He to-day is taken home,
I shall be released to-morrow;
Come, my full Redeemer, come!
Can I of my lot complain!
Sure at last to' outlive the anguish,
Sure to find my friend again:
Ransom'd from a world of sorrow,
He to-day is taken home,
I shall be released to-morrow;
Come, my full Redeemer, come!
345
In the kingdom of Thy patience
Well Thou know'st I daily die;
Out of mighty tribulations
Take me up to rest on high;
From my sanctified distresses
Now, or when Thou wilt, retrieve;
Grant me but in Thine embraces
After all my deaths to live.
Well Thou know'st I daily die;
Out of mighty tribulations
Take me up to rest on high;
From my sanctified distresses
Now, or when Thou wilt, retrieve;
Grant me but in Thine embraces
After all my deaths to live.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |