The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Conscious of all that I have done,
Of evils to the world unknown,
My punishment I feel.
Driven out from my Creator's face,
A vagrant Cain, in every place
I carry my own hell.

Remembrance shakes her whip severe,
Her scorpion whip of guilty fear,
Of sad remorse and shame.
But from myself I cannot fly,
Or find one drop of comfort nigh
To cool this scorching flame.

145

Jesus, my only Hope Thou art,
Sprinkle Thy blood upon my heart,
And make its troubles cease:
Thy blood the wounded conscience heals,
Thy blood the sinner's pardon seals,
And bids me die in peace.

Faith in Thy blood if Thou bestow,
The sting of guilt no more I know,
The self-tormenting mind,
I plunge me in the' oblivious flood,
I wash away my sinful load,
And leave myself behind.

Help then my desperate unbelief,
Appear to end my sin, and grief,
With all Thy wounds confess'd.
Thy love on Calvary display,
And bear my ransom'd soul away,
To that eternal rest.

University of Virginia Library

3298.

[Conscious of all that I have done]