The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

How hapless are the letter'd youth,
How distant from the paths of truth
And solid happiness!
Their knowledge makes them doubly blind,
The medicine for their sin-sick mind
But heightens their disease.

The world's, and sin's, and Satan's prey,
At the first step they go astray,
Nor ever God intend:
They do not at His glory aim,
Begin their work in Jesu's name,
Or make His love their end.

By ten years' siege the fort they take,
And learning's shell their own they make,
With outward knowledge fraught;

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But, tutor'd for this world alone,
The one thing needful to be known
They and their guides forgot.

In specious pride and envy bred,
Down a broad beaten track they tread,
As vicious nature draws;
With hellish emulation fired,
They lust to be caress'd, admired,
And pamper'd with applause.

Their teachers edge their thirst of fame,
And pour more oil upon the flame,
And raise their passions higher;
Like Herod, each the children slays,
Or makes the helpless victims pass
To Moloch through the fire.

Who shall arise in their defence,
The cause of injured innocence
With generous zeal maintain;
Train up poor children for the Lord,
And serve, expecting no reward,
Till one in heaven they gain?

Lord, if Thou hast our hearts inclined,
And for this very thing design'd
The meanest of the crowd;
With suitable endowments bless,
With gifts of learning and of grace,
To build the house of God.

To those Thou shalt with us entrust,
O make us diligently just;
With strict fidelity

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To answer all we undertake,
And not for gain, but conscience' sake,
To breed them up for Thee.

Here let Thy Providence preside,
Thy Spirit be our constant guide,
Thy word our perfect rule;
Their prayers let all the faithful join,
With truth, and power, and love Divine,
To found The Christian School.

So be it, Lord, our labours speed,
And for Thyself raise up a seed,
Thy name to glorify;
A generation wise and good,
With solid piety endued,
And knowledge from on high.

Mould them according to Thy will,
And set the city on the hill,
The fairly rising race;
To scatter light on all around,
And to succeeding times resound
Thine everlasting praise.

University of Virginia Library

HYMN XLIII.

[How hapless are the letter'd youth]