I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
IX. |
X. |
XI. |
I. |
II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
1833. |
1834. |
1835. |
1836. |
1837. |
1838. |
1839. |
1840. |
1841. |
1842. |
1843. |
1844. |
1845. |
1846. |
1847. |
1848. |
1849. |
1850. |
1851. |
1852. |
1853. |
1854. |
1855. |
1856. |
1857. |
1858. |
1859. |
1860. |
1861. |
1862. |
1863. |
1864. |
1865. |
1866. |
1867. |
1868. |
1869. |
1870. |
1871. |
1872. |
1873. |
1874. |
1875. |
1876. |
1877. |
1878. |
1879. |
1880. |
1881. |
1882. |
1883. |
1884. |
1885. |
1886. |
1887. |
1888. |
1889. |
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 | ||