The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

How happy is the man
Who sees his misery,
Who ever feels his nature's chain,
Nor murmurs to be free!
Who waits in patient hope,
And, languishing for home,
With cheerful confidence looks up,
And says, “My Lord will come.”

He neither hopes nor fears
Evil or good below;
But sighs for God, and lets his tears
In secret silence flow.
Stript of his joy, he grieves
Quiet, and meek, and still;
The matter to his Father leaves,
And bids Him work His will.

In calm, submissive grief
He suffers his distress;
He cannot snatch undue relief,
Or wish his misery less:
“My Father's will is good,”
(The patient mourner cries,)
“He never gives a stone for food,
Or slights His children's sighs.”

O that I thus resign'd
Might bear my nature's load!
O that in me were such a mind
To leave the whole to God!

With Him to trust my cause,
And quietly endure
Till He remove the hallow'd cross,
And all my sickness cure.

I would, (but Thou canst tell,)
I would be humble, Lord,
My burden every moment feel,
And tremble at Thy word:
I would be stript of all,
And calmly wait Thy stay;
Poor at Thy feet, and helpless fall,
And weep my life away.

I would be truly still,
Nor set a time to Thee,
But act according to Thy will,
And speak, and think, and be.
I would with Thee be one;
And till the grace is given,
Incessant pray, Thy will be done
In earth, as 'tis in heaven.

University of Virginia Library

A POOR SINNER.