I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
1792. |
1793. |
1794. |
1795. |
1796. |
1797. |
1798. |
1799. |
1800. |
1801. |
1802. |
1803. |
1804. |
1805. |
1806. |
1807. |
1808. |
1809. |
1810. |
1811. |
1812. |
1813. |
1814. |
1815. |
1816. |
1817. |
1818. |
1819. |
1820. |
1821. |
1822. |
1823. |
1824. |
1825. |
1826. |
1827. |
1828. |
1829. |
1830. |
1831. |
1832. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
XII. |
XIII. |
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 | ||