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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
HYMN XX.
[Dead! dead! the child I loved so well!]
Dead! dead! the child I loved so well!
Transported to the world above!
I need no more my heart conceal:
I never dared indulge my love:
But may I not indulge my grief,
And seek in tears a sad relief?
Transported to the world above!
I need no more my heart conceal:
I never dared indulge my love:
But may I not indulge my grief,
And seek in tears a sad relief?
253
Mine earthly happiness is fled,
His mother's joy, his father's hope:
O had I died in Isaac's stead!
He should have lived, my age's prop,
He should have closed his father's eyes,
And follow'd me to paradise.
His mother's joy, his father's hope:
O had I died in Isaac's stead!
He should have lived, my age's prop,
He should have closed his father's eyes,
And follow'd me to paradise.
But hath not Heaven, who first bestow'd,
A right to take His gifts away?
I bow me to the sovereign God,
Who snatch'd him from the evil day!
Yet nature will repeat her moan,
And fondly cry, “My son, my son!”
A right to take His gifts away?
I bow me to the sovereign God,
Who snatch'd him from the evil day!
Yet nature will repeat her moan,
And fondly cry, “My son, my son!”
Turn from him, turn, officious thought!
Officious thought presents again
The thousand little acts he wrought,
Which wound my heart with soothing pain:
His looks, his winning gestures rise,
His waving hands, and laughing eyes!
Officious thought presents again
The thousand little acts he wrought,
Which wound my heart with soothing pain:
His looks, his winning gestures rise,
His waving hands, and laughing eyes!
Those waving hands no more shall move,
Those laughing eyes shall smile no more:
He cannot now engage our love
With sweet insinuating power,
Our weak unguarded hearts ensnare,
And rival his Creator there.
Those laughing eyes shall smile no more:
He cannot now engage our love
With sweet insinuating power,
Our weak unguarded hearts ensnare,
And rival his Creator there.
From us, as we from him, secure,
Caught to his heavenly Father's breast,
He waits, till we the bliss ensure,
From all these stormy sorrows rest,
And see him with our angel stand,
To waft, and welcome us to land.
Caught to his heavenly Father's breast,
He waits, till we the bliss ensure,
From all these stormy sorrows rest,
And see him with our angel stand,
To waft, and welcome us to land.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |