 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
PSALM LV. 6. [P. B. V.]
“O that I had wings like a dove! for then would I flee away, and be at rest.”
O that I had the silver wings
Of the mild, holy dove,
To bear me far from earthly things,
And every creature-love!
Of the mild, holy dove,
To bear me far from earthly things,
And every creature-love!
81
Then would I swiftly fly away
To Christ, and be at rest;
On Him my fluttering spirit stay,
And hide me in His breast.
To Christ, and be at rest;
On Him my fluttering spirit stay,
And hide me in His breast.
Jesu, my hiding-place, to Thee
I know not how to fly;
Long have I struggled to be free,
Nor found deliverance nigh.
I know not how to fly;
Long have I struggled to be free,
Nor found deliverance nigh.
Full oft in fruitless, fond desire
I to the desert ran;
But could not from myself retire,
Or 'scape the inner man.
I to the desert ran;
But could not from myself retire,
Or 'scape the inner man.
I took the morning's wings, and fled
For rest to worlds unknown;
Sin found me in the secret shade,
And claim'd me for its own.
For rest to worlds unknown;
Sin found me in the secret shade,
And claim'd me for its own.
O, who shall bid this self depart,
This world of sin exclude;
Empty, and make my peaceful heart
An holy solitude?
This world of sin exclude;
Empty, and make my peaceful heart
An holy solitude?
'Tis not the desert, or the cell,
Can hide me from my pain;
I carry with me my own hell,
While self and pride remain.
Can hide me from my pain;
I carry with me my own hell,
While self and pride remain.
Baffled, o'ercome, I yield at last,
I yield to self-despair;
My unavailing strife is past,
And void returns my prayer.
I yield to self-despair;
My unavailing strife is past,
And void returns my prayer.
I cannot pray, I cannot praise,
For grace I cannot call,
I cannot feel my want of grace,
My soul is stript of all.
For grace I cannot call,
I cannot feel my want of grace,
My soul is stript of all.
82
A vile, unworthy worm, my eyes
I dare not lift to heaven;
Let Him who sees me from the skies
Speak if I am forgiven.
I dare not lift to heaven;
Let Him who sees me from the skies
Speak if I am forgiven.
Or let my Lord still hold His peace,
And do as seems Him good,
Forsake me in my last distress,
And leave me in my blood.
And do as seems Him good,
Forsake me in my last distress,
And leave me in my blood.
If He can find it in His heart,
His fury let Him pour
On me, and from my soul depart,
And never love me more.
His fury let Him pour
On me, and from my soul depart,
And never love me more.
I leave it all to Him alone;
It lies within His breast;
His will, His only will be done,
Let me be curst or blest.
It lies within His breast;
His will, His only will be done,
Let me be curst or blest.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |