 | I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | VII. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| LIX. |
|
| LXII. |
|
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
|
|
|
| CII. |
| CIII. |
|
| CIV. |
| CV. |
| 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. |
 | CHAPTER XII. The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
2019.
[In trouble I dare not complain]
Now is My soul troubled; and what shall I, &c.
—xii. 27.
In trouble I dare not complain,
When Jesus Himself is distress'd,
O'erwhelm'd by a sight of His pain,
With grief above measure oppress'd!
He seems at a loss what to say:
But rescue He will not desire,
Consumed by the wrath of that day,
Baptized with a torrent of fire!
When Jesus Himself is distress'd,
O'erwhelm'd by a sight of His pain,
With grief above measure oppress'd!
He seems at a loss what to say:
But rescue He will not desire,
Consumed by the wrath of that day,
Baptized with a torrent of fire!
Who all our infirmities knows
Doth all our infirmities feel,
And when the dread cup overflows,
Submitting His innocent will,
The cup from His Father receives
That I my vocation may see:
To me an ensample He leaves,
He leaves of His patience to me.
Doth all our infirmities feel,
And when the dread cup overflows,
Submitting His innocent will,
The cup from His Father receives
That I my vocation may see:
To me an ensample He leaves,
He leaves of His patience to me.
Supernally strengthen'd to bear
The sight of the terrible hour,
My weakness I humbly declare,
My Lord in the furnace adore;
Thy cross I accept and embrace,
Thy death I no longer decline,
So Thou, who hast died in my place,
Preserve me eternally Thine.
The sight of the terrible hour,
My weakness I humbly declare,
My Lord in the furnace adore;
Thy cross I accept and embrace,
Thy death I no longer decline,
So Thou, who hast died in my place,
Preserve me eternally Thine.
| CHAPTER XII. The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |