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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
105
LXXXVIII.
[Of a dejected spirit]
Of a dejected spirit
I want the sovereign cure,
The all-atoning merit
Which makes salvation sure:
In secret meditation
On an expiring God,
I wait the application
Of Jesus' balmy blood.
I want the sovereign cure,
The all-atoning merit
Which makes salvation sure:
In secret meditation
On an expiring God,
I wait the application
Of Jesus' balmy blood.
What but my faithful thinking
On Him who stain'd the tree,
Can prop my nature sinking
In its own misery?
What but the sacred Fountain
Which purged a world of sin,
Can move this guilty mountain,
And give me peace within?
On Him who stain'd the tree,
Can prop my nature sinking
In its own misery?
What but the sacred Fountain
Which purged a world of sin,
Can move this guilty mountain,
And give me peace within?
When sick of sin I languish,
My plague incurable,
My wounded spirit's anguish
Will men or angels heal?
So desperate my condition,
I only can confide
In that Divine Physician
Who for His patients died.
My plague incurable,
My wounded spirit's anguish
Will men or angels heal?
So desperate my condition,
I only can confide
In that Divine Physician
Who for His patients died.
His death the sinner raises
With His own love reveal'd,
My mouth is fill'd with praises,
My heart with joy is fill'd;
A blessed man forgiven,
A saved, regenerate soul,
I go in peace to heaven,
When faith hath made me whole.
With His own love reveal'd,
My mouth is fill'd with praises,
My heart with joy is fill'd;
106
A saved, regenerate soul,
I go in peace to heaven,
When faith hath made me whole.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |