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| CIII. |
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| CV. |
| CVI. |
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| CVIII. |
| CIX. |
| CX. |
| CXI. |
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| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
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| CXXXIV. |
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| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
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| CLXXVII. |
| CLXXVIII. |
| CLXXIX. |
| CLXXX. |
| CLXXXI. |
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| CLXXXIII. |
| CLXXXIV. |
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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
ANOTHER.
[How happy the dead, Who Jesus adored!]
How happy the dead, Who Jesus adored!
The soldier is freed, And rests with his Lord:
His warfare is ended, His labours are o'er,
The soul is ascended, And death is no more.
The soldier is freed, And rests with his Lord:
His warfare is ended, His labours are o'er,
The soul is ascended, And death is no more.
The ripe shock of corn Corruption defies,
The spirit is borne To God in the skies;
The partner of Jesus Looks down from above,
Lamenting he sees us With pity and love.
The spirit is borne To God in the skies;
The partner of Jesus Looks down from above,
Lamenting he sees us With pity and love.
My father, my guide, (Our Israel may say,)
Is torn from our side, Is ravish'd away!
A prophet's translation We justly deplore,
With calm lamentation And weeping adore.
Is torn from our side, Is ravish'd away!
A prophet's translation We justly deplore,
With calm lamentation And weeping adore.
Devotion in tears Expresses its love,
Till Jesus appears, Our souls to remove:
The loss of a Stephen We greatly bewail:
He triumphs in heaven; We mourn in the vale.
Till Jesus appears, Our souls to remove:
The loss of a Stephen We greatly bewail:
He triumphs in heaven; We mourn in the vale.
We mourn, but as men Rejoicing in hope,
To see him again, Together caught up;
Our great consolation, When Jesus comes down,
The heirs of salvation With glory to crown.
To see him again, Together caught up;
Our great consolation, When Jesus comes down,
The heirs of salvation With glory to crown.
308
O Saviour, descend; No longer delay,
Our sufferings to end, And bear us away,
Where death cannot sever, Or sorrow molest,
Thy people for ever Reposed on Thy breast!
Our sufferings to end, And bear us away,
Where death cannot sever, Or sorrow molest,
Thy people for ever Reposed on Thy breast!
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |