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| XLIII. | HYMN XLIII.
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| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
HYMN XLIII.
[What shall I do my God to love]
What shall I do my God to love,
My God, who loved, and died for me?
Obdurate heart, will nothing move,
Will nothing melt or soften thee?
My God, who loved, and died for me?
Obdurate heart, will nothing move,
Will nothing melt or soften thee?
Jesus, Thou lovely bleeding Lamb,
To Thee I pour out my complaint;
I cannot hide from Thee my shame,
I own, and blush to own my want.
To Thee I pour out my complaint;
I cannot hide from Thee my shame,
I own, and blush to own my want.
I want an heart to love my God,
I cannot bear this heart of stone;
Soften it, Saviour, by Thy blood,
And melt the nether millstone down.
I cannot bear this heart of stone;
Soften it, Saviour, by Thy blood,
And melt the nether millstone down.
Thou know'st (but must I tell Thee so?)
A wretch condemn'd and self-abhorr'd,
Accurst, and worthy endless woe!
Thou know'st I do not love Thee, Lord!
A wretch condemn'd and self-abhorr'd,
Accurst, and worthy endless woe!
Thou know'st I do not love Thee, Lord!
This is my shame, my curse, my hell,
I do not love the bleeding Lamb,
The Lamb who loved my soul so well;
This is my hell, my curse, my shame.
I do not love the bleeding Lamb,
The Lamb who loved my soul so well;
This is my hell, my curse, my shame.
The stone cries out, I do not love,
And breaks my heart, its want to own,
The mountain now begins to move,
And half relents my heart of stone.
And breaks my heart, its want to own,
The mountain now begins to move,
And half relents my heart of stone.
266
The word hath pass'd Thy gracious lips,
I feel, I feel the waters flow,
The rock is cleft, the marble weeps,
And lo! I mourn Thy love to know.
I feel, I feel the waters flow,
The rock is cleft, the marble weeps,
And lo! I mourn Thy love to know.
For Thee, not without hope I mourn,
I know, I feel Thy love to me,
Thy love my flinty heart shall turn,
And get itself the victory.
I know, I feel Thy love to me,
Thy love my flinty heart shall turn,
And get itself the victory.
Thou lovedst before the world began,
This poor, unloving soul of mine;
Jesus came down, my God was man,
That I might all become divine.
This poor, unloving soul of mine;
Jesus came down, my God was man,
That I might all become divine.
My anchor this, which cannot move,
The servant as his Lord shall be,
And I shall live my God to love,
And die for Him who died for me.
The servant as his Lord shall be,
And I shall live my God to love,
And die for Him who died for me.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |