| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| 1272. |
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| 1274. |
| 1275. |
| 1276. |
| 1277. |
| 1278. |
| 1279. |
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| 1300. |
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| 1303. | 1303.
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| 1310. |
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| 1313. |
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| 1320. |
| 1321. |
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| 1325. |
| 1326. |
| 1327. |
| 1328. |
| 1329. |
| 1330. |
| 1331. |
| 1332. |
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| 1339. |
| 1340. |
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| 1350. |
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| 1360. |
| 1361. |
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| 1364. |
| 1365. |
| 1366. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | ||
1303.
[I want the weeping prophet's heart]
Oh that my head were waters, and mine eyes, &c.
—ix. 1.
I want the weeping prophet's heart:
O might my Lord to me impart
That bleeding sympathy!
On me, Thou Man of Griefs, bestow
The spring of tears, the depth of woe,
The love that was in Thee.
O might my Lord to me impart
That bleeding sympathy!
On me, Thou Man of Griefs, bestow
The spring of tears, the depth of woe,
The love that was in Thee.
I would our desolate Sion mourn
By vile intestine vipers torn,
By endless tempests toss'd,
A Babel of religious strife,
Buried in forms, whose power and life
Of godliness is lost.
By vile intestine vipers torn,
By endless tempests toss'd,
A Babel of religious strife,
Buried in forms, whose power and life
Of godliness is lost.
Or if Thou hast a few restored,
Yet strangers to their bleeding Lord
The multitude remain,
Dead to a God they never knew,
People, and priests, and princes too
Yet strangers to their bleeding Lord
The multitude remain,
Dead to a God they never knew,
People, and priests, and princes too
19
For these I would in secret grieve,
Their burden all day long receive,
For these incessant pray,
And many a mournful vigil keep,
Water my couch with tears, and weep
My pensive life away.
Their burden all day long receive,
For these incessant pray,
And many a mournful vigil keep,
Water my couch with tears, and weep
My pensive life away.
Only regard my dying cries,
And bid the ruin'd Church arise
Which more than life I love,
Call all her sons out of their grave,
And this whole house of Israel save
To sing Thy praise above.
And bid the ruin'd Church arise
Which more than life I love,
Call all her sons out of their grave,
And this whole house of Israel save
To sing Thy praise above.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | ||