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The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Wesley, Charles (1707-1788)

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VOLUME I.
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VOLUME II.
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VOLUME III.
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VOLUME IV.
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VOLUME V.
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[HYMNS AND SACRED POEMS. IN TWO VOLUMES.]
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HYMNS AND SACRED POEMS. IN TWO VOLUMES. BY CHARLES WESLEY, M.A., Student of Christ-Church, Oxford. Vol. II.
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PART I.
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PART II.
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[HYMNS FOR THOSE THAT WAIT FOR FULL REDEMPTION.]
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[HYMNS FOR WIDOWS]
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[THE MARKS OF FAITH.]
 CLXVI. 
CLXVI. FOR THE FEAR OF GOD.
 CLXVII. 
CLXVII. FOR A TENDER CONSCIENCE.
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[Philippians. ii. 13.]
 CLXVIII. 
CLXVIII.
 CLXIX. 
CLXIX. THE SAME.
 CLXX. 
CLXX. THE SAME.
 CLXXI. 
CLXXI. THANKSGIVING FOR DELIVERANCE FROM PAIN.
 CLXXII. 
CLXXII. THANKSGIVING FOR A DELIVERANCE FROM SHIPWRECK.
 CLXXIII. 
CLXXIII. AFTER DELIVERANCE FROM TEMPTATION.
 CLXXIV. 
CLXXIV. AFTER A DELIVERANCE FROM DEATH BY THE FALL OF AN HOUSE.
 CLXXV. 
CLXXV. WRITTEN IN GOING TO WAKEFIELD TO ANSWER A CHARGE OF TREASON.
 CLXXVI. 
CLXXVI. AFTERWARDS.
 CLXXVII. 
CLXXVII.
 CLXXVIII. 
CLXXVIII. ON A JOURNEY.
 CLXXIX. 
CLXXIX. ANOTHER.
 CLXXX. 
CLXXX. ANOTHER.
 CLXXXI. 
CLXXXI. AT THE BAPTISM OF ADULTS.
 CLXXXII. 
CLXXXII. ANOTHER.
 CLXXXIII. 
CLXXXIII. HYMN FOR THE KINGSWOOD COLLIERS.
 CLXXXIV. 
CLXXXIV. ANOTHER.
 CLXXXV. 
CLXXXV. THE PHYSICIAN'S HYMN.
 CLXXXVI. 
CLXXXVI. AN HYMN FOR A MOTHER.
 CLXXXVII. 
CLXXXVII. FOR AN UNCONVERTED CHILD.
 CLXXXVIII. 
CLXXXVIII. THE TRUE USE OF MUSIC.
 CLXXXIX. 
CLXXXIX. ANOTHER.
 CXC. 
CXC. ON HIS BIRTHDAY.
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[HYMNS FOR CHRISTIAN FRIENDS]
 CCXLVI. 
CCXLVI. PRIMITIVE CHRISTIANITY.
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VOLUME VI.
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VOLUME VII.
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VOLUME VIII.
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VOLUME IX.
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VOLUME X.
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VOLUME XI.
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VOLUME XII.
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VOLUME XIII.

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CCXXII. THE SAME.

Hymn 32.

[Fluttering soul, what dost thou here]

Fluttering soul, what dost thou here,
Pinion'd with a load of clay?
Poor afflicted sojourner,
Shake thy wings, and fly away,
From the mournful valley fly,
Break the cage, and reach the sky.
What doth this low earth afford
Worthy an immortal mind?
Man, its miserable lord,
Can he here his equal find?
Fallen, yet in ruins great,
Sinks the world beneath his weight.
445

All on earth is vanity,
This I surely feel and know,
Good itself is ill to me,
Seeming joy but real woe,
Comforts double my distress,
Edge the pain they cannot ease.
Friendship's self, celestial guest,
Can she make me happy here?
Answer this distracted breast,
Answer this foreboding fear!
Fear to lose outweighs my gain,
Heighten'd bliss is heighten'd pain.
Oh! that all the pain were past,
Never, never to return!
Might I but escape at last,
Cease at once to live and mourn,
Grasp through death the' immortal prize,
Meet my friend in paradise.
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