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| I. |
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| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
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| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
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| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
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| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
CXLVIII. FOR ONE RETIRED INTO THE COUNTRY.
Merciful God, what hast Thou done
For a poor sojourner,
How strangely drawn and led me on
To seek salvation here?
Here in the solitary shade
I seek the things above,
In deep distress implore Thine aid,
And languish for Thy love.
For a poor sojourner,
How strangely drawn and led me on
To seek salvation here?
178
I seek the things above,
In deep distress implore Thine aid,
And languish for Thy love.
Thou, only Thou canst soothe my grief,
And calm my troubled breast,
Afford the permanent relief,
The true internal rest;
The' irreparable loss repair,
And draw the' envenom'd dart,
And shut the world of sin and care
Out of my peaceful heart.
And calm my troubled breast,
Afford the permanent relief,
The true internal rest;
The' irreparable loss repair,
And draw the' envenom'd dart,
And shut the world of sin and care
Out of my peaceful heart.
Sorrow and sin are chased away,
Whene'er Thy love appears,
The gloom it brightens into day,
And dries the mourner's tears:
It makes a wounded spirit whole,
Pours in the balm Divine,
And whispers to mine inmost soul,
“The pardoning God is thine!”
Whene'er Thy love appears,
The gloom it brightens into day,
And dries the mourner's tears:
It makes a wounded spirit whole,
Pours in the balm Divine,
And whispers to mine inmost soul,
“The pardoning God is thine!”
Come then, Thou universal Good,
And bid my heart be still,
And let me meet Thee in the wood,
Or find Thee on the hill:
My soul to nobler prospects raise,
My largest views extend
Beyond the bounds of time and space,
Where pain and death shall end.
And bid my heart be still,
And let me meet Thee in the wood,
Or find Thee on the hill:
My soul to nobler prospects raise,
My largest views extend
Beyond the bounds of time and space,
Where pain and death shall end.
Lead to the streams of paradise,
My raptured spirit lead,
And bid the tree of life arise
And flourish o'er my head:
Place me by faith on Pisgah's top
The antepast to prove,
And then receive Thy servant up
To see Thy face above.
My raptured spirit lead,
And bid the tree of life arise
And flourish o'er my head:
179
The antepast to prove,
And then receive Thy servant up
To see Thy face above.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |