The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Now, sinner, now what is thy hope?
Canst thou with confidence look up,
And see the angel nigh?
Is death a messenger of peace?
And dost thou long for thy release?
And art thou fit to die?

345

Say, if prepared for death thou art,
What means that faltering of thy heart,
That inly stifled groan?
Why shrinks thy soul with guilty fear,
And loudly warn'd of judgment near
Starts from a God unknown?

Whither, ah! whither must thou go?
Poor dying wretch, thou dost not know,
Doubtful so near thine end;
Doubtful with whom thou first shalt meet,
Who first thy parting soul shall greet,
An angel, or a fiend.

Where wilt thou ease or comfort take?
Now to thy harmless life look back,
From outward vice so free;
Bring all thy works, and seeming good
To balance with thy guilty load,
And let them plead for thee.

Alas! they cannot buy thy peace,
The rags of thy own righteousness
They cannot screen thy shame:
Full of all inward sin thou art,
Anger, and lust, and pride of heart;
And Legion is thy name.

Now let thy best endeavours plead,
Now lean upon that feeble reed;
Thou who hast lived so well!
Thy dying weight it cannot bear,
But breaks, and leaves thee to despair,
And lets thee sink to hell.

346

Now wilt thou mock the sons of God,
Who felt the Saviour's sprinkled blood,
And own'd their sins forgiven!
Tell them, their peace they cannot feel,
The glorious hope, the Spirit's seal,
The antepast of heaven.

Hast thou received the Holy Ghost?
Poor Christless soul, undone, and lost,
Already damn'd thou art:
Now tell thy Lord, It cannot be;
He did not buy the grace for thee,
To dwell within thy heart.

His inspiration now blaspheme,
And call it all a madman's dream,
That God in man should dwell;
The' enthusiastic scheme explode,
That souls should here be fill'd with God:
Go laugh at saints in hell!

Ah! no; thy laughter ceases there,
Doom'd with apostate fiends to share
The unbeliever's hire;
There thou shalt die the second death,
And gnaw thy tongue, and gnash thy teeth,
And welter in that fire.

Alas! thy gracious day is past:
The wrath is come: what hope at last
The sentence to repeal?
No longer thy damnation sleeps,
The soul from off thy quivering lips
Is starting into hell.

347

But if thou nothing hast to plead,
Behold in this thy greatest need
An Advocate is nigh;
Ask Him to undertake thy cause,
The Man that hung upon the cross,
And deign'd for thee to die.

See Him between the dying thieves,
His grace the parting soul relieves
Even at its latest hour:
Ask, and His grace shall reach to thee,
“Jesus, my King, remember me,
Display Thy mercy's power.

“Thee for my Lord, and God I own,
With pity see me from Thy throne,
And though my body dies,
My soul, if Thou Thy Spirit give,
My happy soul to-day shall live,
With Thee in paradise.”

University of Virginia Library

XXV. FOR A DYING UNCONVERTED SINNER.