The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

While my foes are in my sight
Watching me with evil eye,
I have vow'd to walk aright,
Never more with sin comply,
Faithful to the Saviour's grace,
Circumspect in all my ways.

I will to my words take heed,
Bridle my unwary tongue:
Thus with over-cautious dread
Silent I continued long,
Satan his advantage gain'd,
Fearful I from good refrain'd.

But my straiten'd spirit mourn'd,
Struggling into fervent prayer;
But my heart within me burn'd,
And I could no more forbear;

While I mused the' enkindled fire
Burst in flames of strong desire.

Lord, (at last I spake and said,)
Show me my own weakness, show
On how frail and small a thread
Hangs my fleeting life below;
Make me wise to know my end,
Let me to myself attend.

Thou hast number'd out my days,
All my age is but a span,
Shorter than a moment's space
Is the longest life of man;
At his best estate, with Thee
Man is all but vanity.

Stranger to repose and peace
Still he wanders on in vain,
Grasps at shadowy happiness,
Racks himself with real pain,
Heaps up wealth with endless care,
Leaves it for his unknown heir.

Grieved at human vanity,
What do I expect below?
Lord, my hope is all in Thee,
Thee alone I want to know,
Wait to taste how good Thou art,
Long to find Thee in my heart.

Thou from all my sins redeem,
Save me by Thy pardoning grace,
Do not let my foes blaspheme,
Silence the reviling race,
On themselves their scoffs return,
Laugh their idle rage to scorn.

Dumb I for a while became,
Sunk beneath my guilty load,
Open'd not my mouth for shame,
Shame at having grieved my God,
Groan'd the' unutterable prayer,
Smote my breast—and God was there.

Take, O take Thy plague away,
Thy consuming hand remove;
Mortals hasten to decay
When Thou dost for sin reprove,
Show, when visited like me,
All are sin and vanity.

Hear, O Lord, my mournful prayer,
O regard my earnest cry,
Do not still Thy help defer,
Grant me succour from on high,
Hear my clamorous griefs and fears,
Answer all my silent tears.

Stranger in the vale of woe,
I my wretched state confess;
A poor sojourner below,
This, alas, is not my place;
Thee my fathers' God I own
Going where they all have gone.

Only spare my feeble soul
Till Thine image I retrieve,
Till Thy love hath made me whole;
Let me then no longer live,
Let me my last stage pass o'er,
Die, to appear on earth no more.

University of Virginia Library

PSALM XXXIX.

[While my foes are in my sight]