 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
40
GRACE.
From the same.
My stock lies dead, and no increase
Does Thy past gifts improve:
O, let Thy graces without cease
Drop gently from above.
Does Thy past gifts improve:
O, let Thy graces without cease
Drop gently from above.
If still the sun should hide his face,
Earth would a dungeon prove,
Thy works night's captives: O, let grace
Drop gently from above.
Earth would a dungeon prove,
Thy works night's captives: O, let grace
Drop gently from above.
The dew unsought each morning falls:
Less bounteous is Thy dove?
The dew for which my spirit calls
Drop gently from above.
Less bounteous is Thy dove?
The dew for which my spirit calls
Drop gently from above.
Death is still digging like a mole
My grave, where'er I move;
Let grace work too, and on my soul
Drop gently from above.
My grave, where'er I move;
Let grace work too, and on my soul
Drop gently from above.
Sin is still spreading o'er my heart
A hardness void of love;
Let suppling grace, to cross her art,
Drop gently from above.
A hardness void of love;
Let suppling grace, to cross her art,
Drop gently from above.
O, come; for Thou dost know the way!
Or, if Thou wilt not move,
Translate me, where I need not say
Drop gently from above.
Or, if Thou wilt not move,
Translate me, where I need not say
Drop gently from above.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |