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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
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| II. |
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| CXIII. |
| CXIV. |
| CXV. |
| CXVI. |
| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
| CXXXIII. |
| CXXXIV. |
| CXXXV. |
| CXXXVI. |
| CXXXVII. |
| CXXXVIII. |
| CXXXIX. |
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
| CXLII. |
| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CXLVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
| CLIII. |
| CLIV. |
| CLV. |
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| CLXIX. |
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| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
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| CLXXXIX. |
| CXC. |
| CXCI. |
| CXCII. |
| CXCIII. |
| CXCIV. |
| CXCV. |
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| CC. |
| CCI. |
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| CCVI. |
| CCVII. |
| CCVIII. |
| CCIX. |
| II. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
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| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
XXX. THE SAME.
Hymn 2.
[Still, O Lord, for Thee I tarry]
Still, O Lord, for Thee I tarry,
Full of sorrows, sins, and wants;
Thee, and all Thy saints I weary
With my sad but vain complaints;
Sawn asunder by temptation,
Tortured by distracting care,
Kill'd by doubts' severe vexation,
Sorer evil than despair.
Full of sorrows, sins, and wants;
Thee, and all Thy saints I weary
With my sad but vain complaints;
Sawn asunder by temptation,
Tortured by distracting care,
Kill'd by doubts' severe vexation,
Sorer evil than despair.
Will the fight be never over?
Will the balance never turn?
Still 'twixt life and death I hover,
Bear what is not to be borne;
Who can bear a wounded spirit?
Whither must my spirit go?
Shall I heaven or hell inherit?
Let me die my doom to know.
Will the balance never turn?
Still 'twixt life and death I hover,
Bear what is not to be borne;
Who can bear a wounded spirit?
Whither must my spirit go?
Shall I heaven or hell inherit?
Let me die my doom to know.
All in vain for death I languish,
Death from his pursuer flies:
Still I feel the gnawing anguish
Feel the worm that never dies;
Still in horrid expectation
Like the damn'd in hell I groan,
Envy them their swift damnation,
Fearful to enhance my own.
Death from his pursuer flies:
Still I feel the gnawing anguish
Feel the worm that never dies;
353
Like the damn'd in hell I groan,
Envy them their swift damnation,
Fearful to enhance my own.
Jesus, see Thy fallen creature,
Fallen at Thy feet I lie,
Act according to Thy nature,
Bid the sinner live or die;
Of my pain fill up the measure,
If Thou canst no more forgive:
If Thou in my life hast pleasure,
Speak, and now my soul shall live.
Fallen at Thy feet I lie,
Act according to Thy nature,
Bid the sinner live or die;
Of my pain fill up the measure,
If Thou canst no more forgive:
If Thou in my life hast pleasure,
Speak, and now my soul shall live.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |