I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
LIX. |
LXII. |
LXIX. |
LXX. |
LXXI. |
LXXII. |
LXXIII. |
LXXIV. |
LXXV. |
LXXVI. |
LXXVII. |
LXXVIII. |
LXXIX. |
LXXX. |
LXXXI. |
LXXXII. |
XCVII. |
XCVIII. |
XCIX. |
C. |
CI. |
CII. |
CIII. |
CVI. |
CIX. |
CX. |
CXVII. |
CXVIII. |
CXIX. |
CXX. |
CXXI. |
CXXII. |
CXXIII. |
CXXIV. |
CXXV. |
CXXVI. |
CXXVII. |
CXXVIII. |
CXXIX. |
CXXX. |
CXXXI. |
CXXXII. |
CXXXIII. |
CXXXVIII. |
CXLV. |
CXLVI. |
CXLVII. |
CXLVIII. |
CXLIX. |
CLXIII. |
CLXIV. |
CLXV. |
CLXVI. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | ||
ANOTHER.
[Soothing, soul-composing thought!]
Soothing, soul-composing thought!
I shall soon my haven gain,
Out of mind, and clean forgot,
Far from trouble, far from pain;
Of my quiet grave possest,
I shall be with those that rest.
I shall soon my haven gain,
Out of mind, and clean forgot,
Far from trouble, far from pain;
Of my quiet grave possest,
I shall be with those that rest.
Let me on the image dwell,
Glory o'er my mouldering clay:
Feeble limbs, ye soon shall fail,
Life shall shortly pass away,
I shall yield my wretched breath,
Sink into the dust of death.
Glory o'er my mouldering clay:
Feeble limbs, ye soon shall fail,
Life shall shortly pass away,
I shall yield my wretched breath,
Sink into the dust of death.
Swift as air my moments fly,
Less and less the destined store;
Time, like me, makes haste to die,
Time and sin shall be no more;
Sin shall here its period have,
Time be buried in my grave.
Less and less the destined store;
Time, like me, makes haste to die,
Time and sin shall be no more;
Sin shall here its period have,
Time be buried in my grave.
Drooping soul, rejoice, rejoice,
Here thou hast not long to stay;
Listen for the Bridegroom's voice,
Rise, my love, and come away;
Hasten to thy Lord above,
Rise, and come away, my love.
Here thou hast not long to stay;
Listen for the Bridegroom's voice,
Rise, my love, and come away;
Hasten to thy Lord above,
Rise, and come away, my love.
163
Lo! I at Thy summons come,
This frail tabernacle leave;
Thou art my eternal home,
Now, O Lord, my soul receive,
Take me to Thy loving breast,
Take me to Thy heavenly rest.
This frail tabernacle leave;
Thou art my eternal home,
Now, O Lord, my soul receive,
Take me to Thy loving breast,
Take me to Thy heavenly rest.
The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | ||