The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | ||
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HYMN XVII.
The Horrible Decree.
Ah! gentle, gracious Dove;
And art Thou grieved in me,
That sinners should restrain Thy love,
And say, “It is not free:
It is not free for all;
The most Thou passest by,
And mockest with a fruitless call
Whom Thou hast doom'd to die.”
And art Thou grieved in me,
That sinners should restrain Thy love,
And say, “It is not free:
It is not free for all;
The most Thou passest by,
And mockest with a fruitless call
Whom Thou hast doom'd to die.”
They think Thee not sincere
In giving each his day:
“Thou only draw'st the sinner near,
To cast him quite away;
To aggravate his sin,
His sure damnation seal,
Thou show'st him heaven, and say'st, Go, in,—
And thrusts him into hell.”
In giving each his day:
“Thou only draw'st the sinner near,
To cast him quite away;
To aggravate his sin,
His sure damnation seal,
Thou show'st him heaven, and say'st, Go, in,—
And thrusts him into hell.”
O Horrible Decree,
Worthy of whence it came!
Forgive their hellish blasphemy
Who charge it on the Lamb,
Whose pity Him inclined
To leave His throne above,
The Friend and Saviour of mankind,
The God of grace and love.
Worthy of whence it came!
Forgive their hellish blasphemy
Who charge it on the Lamb,
Whose pity Him inclined
To leave His throne above,
The Friend and Saviour of mankind,
The God of grace and love.
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O gracious, loving Lord,
I feel Thy bowels yearn;
For those who slight the gospel word
I share in Thy concern:
How art Thou grieved to be
By ransom'd worms withstood!
How dost Thou bleed afresh, to see
Them trample on Thy blood!
I feel Thy bowels yearn;
For those who slight the gospel word
I share in Thy concern:
How art Thou grieved to be
By ransom'd worms withstood!
How dost Thou bleed afresh, to see
Them trample on Thy blood!
To limit Thee they dare,
Blaspheme Thee to Thy face,
Deny their fellow worms a share
In Thy redeeming grace;
All for their own they take,
Thy righteousness engross,
Of none effect to most they make
The merits of Thy cross.
Blaspheme Thee to Thy face,
Deny their fellow worms a share
In Thy redeeming grace;
All for their own they take,
Thy righteousness engross,
Of none effect to most they make
The merits of Thy cross.
Sinners, abhor the fiend:
His other gospel hear—
“The God of truth did not intend
The thing His words declare;
He offers grace to all,
Which most cannot embrace,
Mock'd with an ineffectual call
And insufficient grace.
His other gospel hear—
“The God of truth did not intend
The thing His words declare;
He offers grace to all,
Which most cannot embrace,
Mock'd with an ineffectual call
And insufficient grace.
“The righteous God consign'd
Them over to their doom,
And sent the Saviour of mankind
To damn them from the womb;
To damn for falling short
Of what they could not do,
For not believing the report
Of that which was not true.
Them over to their doom,
And sent the Saviour of mankind
To damn them from the womb;
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Of what they could not do,
For not believing the report
Of that which was not true.
“The God of love pass'd by
The most of those that fell,
Ordain'd poor reprobates to die,
And forced them into hell.”
“He did not do the deed,
(Some have more mildly raved,)
He did not damn them—but decreed
They never should be saved.
The most of those that fell,
Ordain'd poor reprobates to die,
And forced them into hell.”
“He did not do the deed,
(Some have more mildly raved,)
He did not damn them—but decreed
They never should be saved.
“He did not them bereave
Of life, or stop their breath;
His grace He only would not give,
And starved their souls to death.”
Satanic sophistry!
But still, all-gracious God,
They charge the sinner's death on Thee,
Who bought'st him with Thy blood.
Of life, or stop their breath;
His grace He only would not give,
And starved their souls to death.”
Satanic sophistry!
But still, all-gracious God,
They charge the sinner's death on Thee,
Who bought'st him with Thy blood.
They think with shrieks and cries
To please the Lord of Hosts,
And offer Thee, in sacrifice,
Millions of slaughter'd ghosts;
With new-born babes they fill
The dire infernal shade,
For such (they say) was Thy great will
Before the world was made.
To please the Lord of Hosts,
And offer Thee, in sacrifice,
Millions of slaughter'd ghosts;
With new-born babes they fill
The dire infernal shade,
For such (they say) was Thy great will
Before the world was made.
How long, O God, how long
Shall Satan's rage proceed!
Wilt Thou not soon avenge the wrong,
And crush the serpent's head?
Surely Thou shalt at last
Bruise him beneath our feet;
The devil and his doctrine cast
Into the burning pit.
Shall Satan's rage proceed!
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And crush the serpent's head?
Surely Thou shalt at last
Bruise him beneath our feet;
The devil and his doctrine cast
Into the burning pit.
Arise, O God, arise;
Thy glorious truth maintain;
Hold forth the bloody Sacrifice,
For every sinner slain!
Defend Thy mercy's cause,
Thy grace divinely free;
Lift up the standard of Thy cross,
Draw all men unto Thee.
Thy glorious truth maintain;
Hold forth the bloody Sacrifice,
For every sinner slain!
Defend Thy mercy's cause,
Thy grace divinely free;
Lift up the standard of Thy cross,
Draw all men unto Thee.
O vindicate Thy grace,
Which every soul may prove;
Us in Thy arms of love embrace,
Of everlasting love.
Give the pure gospel word,
Thy preachers multiply;
Let all confess their common Lord,
And dare for Him to die.
Which every soul may prove;
Us in Thy arms of love embrace,
Of everlasting love.
Give the pure gospel word,
Thy preachers multiply;
Let all confess their common Lord,
And dare for Him to die.
My life I here present,
My heart's last drop of blood:
O let it all be freely spent
In proof that Thou art good;
Art good to all that breathe,
Who all may pardon have;
Thou willest not the sinner's death,
But all the world wouldst save.
My heart's last drop of blood:
O let it all be freely spent
In proof that Thou art good;
Art good to all that breathe,
Who all may pardon have;
Thou willest not the sinner's death,
But all the world wouldst save.
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O take me at my word;
But arm me with Thy power,
Then call me forth to suffer, Lord,
To meet the fiery hour:
In death will I proclaim
That all may hear Thy call,
And clap my hands amidst the flame,
And shout,—He died for all.
But arm me with Thy power,
Then call me forth to suffer, Lord,
To meet the fiery hour:
In death will I proclaim
That all may hear Thy call,
And clap my hands amidst the flame,
And shout,—He died for all.
The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | ||