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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
1196.
[Who is the weak believer, who]
Who is among you that feareth the Lord, &c.
—l. 10.
Who is the weak believer, who
Doth still his dreary way pursue,
Inspired with true religious fear,
And following Christ with heart sincere?
Obedient to thy Saviour's voice,
Yet canst thou not in Him rejoice,
Or taste the comforts of His grace,
Or find a God who hides His face.
Doth still his dreary way pursue,
Inspired with true religious fear,
And following Christ with heart sincere?
Obedient to thy Saviour's voice,
Yet canst thou not in Him rejoice,
Or taste the comforts of His grace,
Or find a God who hides His face.
437
Jesus is vanish'd from thy sight,
No glimpse of bliss, or gleam of light
To cheer thee in the desert way,
Or promise a return of day;
No evidence of things unseen,
But wars without, and fears within,
No witness of thy sins forgiven,
No ray of hope on this side heaven!
No glimpse of bliss, or gleam of light
To cheer thee in the desert way,
Or promise a return of day;
No evidence of things unseen,
But wars without, and fears within,
No witness of thy sins forgiven,
No ray of hope on this side heaven!
Poor, tempted soul, what canst thou do?
Hope against hope, that God is true,
His nature in His name confess,
His wisdom, power, and righteousness;
The Lord, whom now thou canst not see,
Whate'er He is, He is for thee;
Expect; and thou shalt surely prove,
That God in Christ is perfect love.
Hope against hope, that God is true,
His nature in His name confess,
His wisdom, power, and righteousness;
The Lord, whom now thou canst not see,
Whate'er He is, He is for thee;
Expect; and thou shalt surely prove,
That God in Christ is perfect love.
Till then, on Him thy spirit stay,
Whose death hath borne thy sins away,
Conform'd to Jesus in His blood,
With Him cry out, “My God, my God!
My God, my God, I hold Thee fast,
Till nature's latest pang is pass'd,
Into Thy hands my soul resign,
And then—Thou art for ever mine.”
Whose death hath borne thy sins away,
Conform'd to Jesus in His blood,
With Him cry out, “My God, my God!
My God, my God, I hold Thee fast,
Till nature's latest pang is pass'd,
Into Thy hands my soul resign,
And then—Thou art for ever mine.”
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |