I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
2715. |
2716. |
2717. |
2718. |
2719. |
2720. |
2721. |
2722. |
2723. |
2724. |
2725. |
2726. |
2727. |
2728. |
2729. |
2730. |
2731. |
2732. |
2733. |
2734. |
2735. |
2736. |
2737. |
2738. |
2739. |
2740. |
2741. |
2742. |
2743. |
2744. |
2745. |
2746. |
2747. |
2748. |
2749. |
2750. |
2751. |
2752. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XIII. |
The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | ||
70.
[A thousand secret checks within]
A thousand secret checks within,
To unacknowledged grace I owe;
A thousand times preserved from sin,
I now my kind Preserver know;
Thou didst support my yielding heart,
Thou didst to good my will incline;
And when I chose the better part,
The virtuous thought was all Divine.
To unacknowledged grace I owe;
A thousand times preserved from sin,
I now my kind Preserver know;
Thou didst support my yielding heart,
Thou didst to good my will incline;
And when I chose the better part,
The virtuous thought was all Divine.
22
I envied oft the swine their meat,
But none the husks of pleasure gave:
Oft by my bosom-sin beset,
Mercy contrived my soul to save:
The grace I trembled to receive,
Escaping from the broken snare;
And scarcely durst my heart believe
That mercy could redeem so far.
But none the husks of pleasure gave:
Oft by my bosom-sin beset,
Mercy contrived my soul to save:
The grace I trembled to receive,
Escaping from the broken snare;
And scarcely durst my heart believe
That mercy could redeem so far.
Still on a precipice I stand,
Or seem on solid waves to tread;
Secure in an Almighty hand,
When raging flames surround my head;
Nigh is my sin, but Thou art nigher,
And while to Thee my soul I give,
I hang in air, I walk in fire,
In death by miracle I live!
Or seem on solid waves to tread;
Secure in an Almighty hand,
When raging flames surround my head;
Nigh is my sin, but Thou art nigher,
And while to Thee my soul I give,
I hang in air, I walk in fire,
In death by miracle I live!
The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | ||