The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley

Jesus, let Thy pitying eye
Call back a wandering sheep,
False to Thee like Peter I
Would fain like Peter weep:
Let me be by grace restored,
On me be all longsuffering shown;
Turn, and look upon me, Lord,
And break my heart of stone.

Saviour, Prince, enthroned above,
Repentance to impart,
Give me through Thy dying love
The humble contrite heart:

406

Give what I have long implored,
A portion of Thy grief unknown;
Turn, and look, &c.

In restoring love again,
O Jesus, visit me,
Give me back that pleasing pain,
That blessed misery:
Now Thy tendering grace afford,
And make me Thine afflicted one:
Turn, and look, &c.

Harder than the flinty rock
My stubborn heart remains,
Till I feel Thy mercy's stroke,
I only bite my chains,
Sinning on, though self-abhorr'd,
As devils in their chains I groan:
Turn, and look, &c.

For Thine own compassion's sake
The gracious wonder show,
Cast my sins behind Thy back,
And wash me white as snow;
If Thy bowels now are stirr'd,
If now I would myself bemoan,
Turn, and look, &c.

See me, Saviour, from above,
Nor suffer me to die;
Life, and happiness, and love
Drop from Thy gracious eye;
Speak the reconciling word,
And let Thy mercy melt me down;
Turn, and look, &c.

407

Look, as when Thine eye pursued
The first apostate man,
Saw him weltering in his blood,
And bade him rise again;
Speak my paradise restored,
Redeem me by Thy grace alone:
Turn, and look, &c.

Look, as when Thy pity saw
Thine own in a strange land,
Forced to' obey the tyrant's law,
And feel his heavy hand:
Speak the soul redeeming word,
And out of Egypt call Thy son;
Turn, and look, &c.

Look, as when Thy weeping eye
The bloody city view'd,
Those, who stoned and doom'd to die
The prophets, and their God:
I deserve their sad reward,
But this my gracious day I own:
Turn, and look, &c.

Look, as when Thy grace beheld
The harlot in distress,
Dried her tears, her pardon seal'd,
And bade her go in peace:
Foul like her, and self-abhorr'd,
I at Thy feet for mercy groan:
Turn, and look, &c.

Look, as when condemn'd for them
Thou didst Thy followers see,
“Daughters of Jerusalem,
Weep for yourselves, not Me!”

408

Am I by my God deplored,
And shall I not myself bemoan?
Turn, and look, &c.

Look, as when Thy languid eye
Was closed that we might live,
Father, (at the point to die
My Saviour gasp'd,) forgive!
Surely with that dying word
He turns, and looks, and cries, 'Tis done!
O my bleeding, loving Lord,
Thou break'st my heart of stone!

University of Virginia Library

LXIV. THE SAME.

Hymn 14.

[Jesus, let Thy pitying eye]