The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

No; not after twenty years
Of labouring in the word!
After all his fights, and fears,
And sufferings for his Lord,
Paul hath not attain'd the prize,
Though caught up to the heavenly hill:
Daily still the' apostle dies,
And lives imperfect still!

“But we now, the prize to' attain,
An easier method see,
Save ourselves the toil and pain,
And lingering agony,
Reach at once the ladder's top,
While standing on its lowest round,
Instantaneously spring up,
With pure perfection crown'd.”

Such the credulous dotard's dream,
And such his shorter road,
Thus he makes the world blaspheme,
And shames the church of God,
Staggers thus the most sincere,
Till from the gospel-hope they move,

Holiness as error fear,
And start at perfect love.

Lord, Thy real work revive,
The counterfeit to end.
That we lawfully may strive,
And truly apprehend,
Humbly still Thy servant trace,
Who least of saints himself did call,
Till we gain the height of grace,
And into nothing fall.

University of Virginia Library

3189.

[No; not after twenty years]