The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Woe is me! what tongue can tell
My sad afflicted state?
Who my anguish can reveal,
Or all my woe relate?
Fallen among thieves I am,
And they have robb'd me of my God,
Turn'd my glory into shame,
And left me in my blood.

God was once my glorious dress,
And I like Him did shine;
Satan of His righteousness
Hath spoil'd this soul of mine;
By the mortal wound of sin,
'Twixt God and me the parting made:
Dead in Adam, dead within,
My soul is wholly dead.

I have lost the life Divine,
And when this outward breath
To the Giver I resign,
Must die the second death.
Naked, helpless, stript of God,
And at the latest gasp I lie:
Who beholds me in my blood,
And saves me ere I die?

Lo! the priest comes down in vain,
And sees my sad distress,
Sees the state of fallen man,
But cannot give me ease:

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Patriarchs and prophets old
Observe my wretched, desperate case;
Me expiring they behold,
But leave me as I was.

Lo! the Levite me espies,
And stops to view my grief,
Looks on me, and bids me rise,
But offers no relief.
All my wounds he open tears,
And searches them, alas! in vain;
Fill'd with anguish, griefs, and fears,
He leaves me in my pain.

O Thou Good Samaritan,
In Thee is all my hope;
Only Thou canst succour man,
And raise the fallen up.
Hearken to my dying cry,
My wounds compassionately see,
Me a sinner pass not by,
Who gasp for help to Thee.

Still Thou journey'st where I am,
And still Thy bowels move;
Pity is with Thee the same,
And all Thy heart is love.
Stoop to a poor sinner, stoop,
And let Thy healing grace abound;
Heal my bruises, and bind up
My spirit's every wound.

Saviour of my soul, draw nigh,
In mercy haste to me;
At the point of death I lie,
And cannot come to Thee.

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Now Thy kind relief afford,
The wine and oil of grace pour in;
Good Physician, speak the word,
And heal my soul of sin.

Pity to my dying cries
Hath drawn Thee from above,
Hovering over me with eyes
Of tenderness and love:
Now, e'en now I see Thy face,
The balm of Gilead I receive;
Thou hast saved me by Thy grace,
And bade the sinner live.

Surely now the bitterness
Of second death is past:
O my Life, my Righteousness,
On Thee my soul is cast.
Thou hast brought me to Thine inn,
And I am of Thy promise sure;
Thou shalt cleanse me from all sin,
And all my sickness cure.

Perfect then the work begun,
And make the sinner whole;
All Thy will on me be done,
My body, spirit, soul.
Still preserve me safe from harms,
And kindly for Thy patient care;
Take me, Jesu, to Thine arms,
And keep me ever there.

University of Virginia Library

THE GOOD SAMARITAN.

[Luke x. 30, &c.]