The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Jesu, Thy word is past! the grace
Unspeakable is come to all:
Restored by Thee, the fallen race
May all recover from their fall;
From earth Thou hast been lifted up,
That all the ends of earth might hope.

The sure, irrevocable word
Hath no one soul of man pass'd by;
We all may claim the common Lord,
Not one is forced or left to die:
Say Thou, if all may come to Thee?
“I will draw all men unto Me!”

But hath Thy love excepted none?
But wouldst Thou draw us all to God?
Didst Thou for the whole world atone?
Have all an interest in Thy blood?
Say, if Thy grace for all is free?
“I will draw all men unto Me.”

But dost Thou give Thy special grace,
Sufficient all the world to save?
Dost Thou not hide from half the race
What none but the elect can have?

“The grace that brings salvation near
Doth once to all mankind appear.”

And canst Thou, Lord, incline our heart,
And draw us to Thyself in vain,
And then compel us to depart,
And thrust us into endless pain?
“I am not willing one should die;
Why, sinners, will ye perish, why?”

But if Thy written Word be true,
And Thou art willing to save all,
Why do not all the track pursue,
And listen to the' effectual call?
Why do not all Thy grace receive?
“They will not come to Me, and live.”

All might be saved, but all are not,
For all will not Thy call obey;
The grace that once salvation brought
Self-harden'd sinners cast away;
They would not see the way of peace,
But forced the Spirit's strife to cease.

They would not the pure truth receive;
Saved, when they might, they would not be;
God therefore left them to believe
The devil's Horrible Decree:
And lo! they still believe a lie,—
That God did nine in ten pass by.

In them the strong delusion reigns,
That none but they in Christ have hope;
The poison spreads throughout their veins,
And drinks their angry spirits up;

“Let all but us in Tophet dwell,
Away with reprobates to hell!”

The spirit of their father speaks:
The lion roaring for his prey,
The reprobating lion, seeks
Unstable souls to tear and slay.
Fly, sinners, fly the fowler's snare;
Satan and all his depths are there.

Hear the old hellish murderer roar,—
“For all the Saviour did not die,
For only you, and not one more,
My children, who believe my lie.”
His children answer to his call,
And shout, “Christ did not die for all.”

O God of love, lay to Thine hand,
And bruise him underneath our feet;
No longer let his doctrine stand,
But chase it to its native pit;
There only let the fiend declare,
And preach his other gospel there.

University of Virginia Library

HYMN X.

[Jesu, Thy word is past! the grace]