 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
|
| II. |
| I. |
| II. |
|
|
|
| CLXVI. |
| CLXVII. |
|
| CLXXI. |
| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
| CLXXVII. |
| CLXXVIII. |
| CLXXIX. |
| CLXXX. |
| CLXXXI. |
| CLXXXII. |
| CLXXXIII. |
| CLXXXIV. |
| CLXXXV. |
| CLXXXVI. |
| CLXXXVII. |
| CLXXXVIII. |
| CLXXXIX. |
| CXC. |
|
| CXCI. |
| CXCII. |
| CXCIII. |
| CXCIV. |
| CXCV. |
| CXCVI. |
| CXCVII. |
| CXCVIII. |
| CXCIX. |
| CC. |
| CCI. |
| CCII. |
| CCIII. |
| CCIV. |
| CCV. |
| CCVI. |
| CCVII. |
| CCVIII. |
| CCIX. |
| CCX. |
| CCXI. |
| CCXII. |
| CCXIII. |
| CCXIV. |
| CCXV. |
| CCXVI. |
| CCXVII. |
| CCXVIII. |
| CCXIX. |
| CCXX. |
| CCXXI. |
| CCXXII. |
| CCXXIII. |
| CCXXIV. |
| CCXXV. |
| CCXXVI. |
| CCXXVII. |
| CCXXVIII. |
| CCXXIX. |
| CCXXX. |
| CCXXXI. |
| CCXXXII. |
| CCXXXIII. |
| CCXXXIV. |
| CCXXXV. |
| CCXXXVI. |
| CCXXXVII. |
| CCXXXVIII. |
| CCXXXIX. |
| CCXL. |
| CCXLI. |
| CCXLII. |
| CCXLIII. |
| CCXLIV. |
| CCXLV. |
| CCXLVI. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
 | CHAPTER X. The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
264.
[Jesus competitors disdains]
He that loveth father or mother more than Me, &c.
—x. 37, 38.
Jesus competitors disdains:
Where'er the love of Jesus reigns,
It takes up all the heart:
Or if my friends, by nature dear,
I dotingly to Christ prefer,
I bid my Lord depart.
Where'er the love of Jesus reigns,
It takes up all the heart:
Or if my friends, by nature dear,
I dotingly to Christ prefer,
I bid my Lord depart.
A father if I more esteem,
Or happier in a child than Him,
Neglect the joy of grace,
My own unworthiness I show
And force my God to let me go
An outcast from His face.
Or happier in a child than Him,
Neglect the joy of grace,
My own unworthiness I show
And force my God to let me go
An outcast from His face.
Ah, Lord, preserve my soul from sin,
Nor let the pleasing bane steal in,
The soul-ensnaring ill;
I nothing can deserve from Thee,
Yet still impart Thyself to me,
And count me worthy still.
Nor let the pleasing bane steal in,
The soul-ensnaring ill;
I nothing can deserve from Thee,
Yet still impart Thyself to me,
And count me worthy still.
O might I daily in Thy cause
Take up, and bear Thy hallow'd cross
By Thine example led,
The pain endure, the shame despise,
Till ripe for heavenly joy I rise
To triumph with my Head.
Take up, and bear Thy hallow'd cross
By Thine example led,
The pain endure, the shame despise,
Till ripe for heavenly joy I rise
To triumph with my Head.
| CHAPTER X. The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |