 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
XXXI. THE SAME.
Hymn 3.
[God of my life, to Thee I raise]
God of my life, to Thee I raise
(I fain would raise) my soul to Thee:
If I have lived out half my days,
And suffer'd half my misery,
Thy grace preserved me to this hour;
I glorify Thy gracious power.
(I fain would raise) my soul to Thee:
If I have lived out half my days,
And suffer'd half my misery,
Thy grace preserved me to this hour;
I glorify Thy gracious power.
Evil alas! Thou know'st, and few
My days of pilgrimage have been;
With thankfulness, and pain, I view
My thirty years of grief and sin—
Yet O! forgive this eager sigh,
This gasping of my soul to die.
My days of pilgrimage have been;
With thankfulness, and pain, I view
My thirty years of grief and sin—
Yet O! forgive this eager sigh,
This gasping of my soul to die.
I do not, dare not, Lord, mistrust
Thy power or readiness to save;
But let me now return to dust,
But let me find an early grave,
Cut off a length of wretched years,
And die—from all my sins and fears.
Thy power or readiness to save;
But let me now return to dust,
But let me find an early grave,
Cut off a length of wretched years,
And die—from all my sins and fears.
354
Long have I drank the bitter cup
Of trembling, agony, and grief;
So short my intervals of hope,
So few my moments of relief,
I fear lest all my bread should fail,
And Amalek at last prevail.
Of trembling, agony, and grief;
So short my intervals of hope,
So few my moments of relief,
I fear lest all my bread should fail,
And Amalek at last prevail.
Like Hagar's son I lift mine hand
'Gainst every rebel soul of man,
Adverse to all the world I stand,
The world who triumph in my pain,
And ever for my halting wait,
The object of their endless hate.
'Gainst every rebel soul of man,
Adverse to all the world I stand,
The world who triumph in my pain,
And ever for my halting wait,
The object of their endless hate.
A man of strife to all the earth
Me hath my hapless mother borne,
Unconscious of the Spirit's birth;
Where'er my blasted eyes I turn,
Suffering and sin is all I see,
Pure sin, and unmix'd misery.
Me hath my hapless mother borne,
Unconscious of the Spirit's birth;
Where'er my blasted eyes I turn,
Suffering and sin is all I see,
Pure sin, and unmix'd misery.
Still the long hour of darkness lasts,
And Satan's tyranny prevails;
So thick his fiery darts he casts,
My spirit every moment fails,
While in the toils of death I lie,
And from the den of lions cry.
And Satan's tyranny prevails;
So thick his fiery darts he casts,
My spirit every moment fails,
While in the toils of death I lie,
And from the den of lions cry.
Low in the deepest dungeon laid,
Fast bound in sin and misery,
Of fiends, men, and myself afraid,
I ever hasten to be free,
I see them ready to devour,
And tremble at their baleful power.
Fast bound in sin and misery,
Of fiends, men, and myself afraid,
I ever hasten to be free,
I see them ready to devour,
And tremble at their baleful power.
355
Nor won, nor lost, subsists the fight,
Hovers in even poise the scale,
Shudders my soul with dread affright,
And quivering hangs 'twixt heaven and hell;
This doubt! 'tis more than I can bear,
'Tis worse, 'tis heavier than despair.
Hovers in even poise the scale,
Shudders my soul with dread affright,
And quivering hangs 'twixt heaven and hell;
This doubt! 'tis more than I can bear,
'Tis worse, 'tis heavier than despair.
O Saviour, loose me from my pain,
O Jesus, bid my troubles end,
Bear not that healing name in vain,
But show Thyself the sinner's Friend,
Apply the blood that bought my peace,
And give my wounded spirit ease.
O Jesus, bid my troubles end,
Bear not that healing name in vain,
But show Thyself the sinner's Friend,
Apply the blood that bought my peace,
And give my wounded spirit ease.
Thy only blood can be my balm,
And heal the mortal wounds of sin;
Thy only word my soul can calm,
And lay the storm that works within:
Now, Lord, rebuke the winds and seas,
And speak me into perfect peace.
And heal the mortal wounds of sin;
Thy only word my soul can calm,
And lay the storm that works within:
Now, Lord, rebuke the winds and seas,
And speak me into perfect peace.
Or (for I know not what is best)
Still let me bear my guilty load,
But be my everlasting Rest,
But bring me, as Thou wilt, to God,
When all His waves and storms are o'er,
And sin and sorrow are no more.
Still let me bear my guilty load,
But be my everlasting Rest,
But bring me, as Thou wilt, to God,
When all His waves and storms are o'er,
And sin and sorrow are no more.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |