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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
LXVII. THE SAME.
Hymn 17.
[O wretched man of hopeless grief!]
O wretched man of hopeless grief!
What shall I do, or whither fly?
Shut up in sin, and unbelief,
Afraid to live, afraid to die,
In bitterness of soul I mourn,
And rue the day that I was born.
What shall I do, or whither fly?
Shut up in sin, and unbelief,
Afraid to live, afraid to die,
In bitterness of soul I mourn,
And rue the day that I was born.
Is there no balm in Gilead found?
Is there no kind physician there,
To heal my spirit's desperate wound,
To mitigate my sad despair?
No word to' assuage my misery,
No promise of relief for me?
Is there no kind physician there,
To heal my spirit's desperate wound,
To mitigate my sad despair?
No word to' assuage my misery,
No promise of relief for me?
414
Where is the helpless sinner's Friend?
Where is the weary wanderer's rest?
Wilt Thou not bid my sorrows end?
Wilt Thou not calm my troubled breast,
And show forth all Thy gracious art,
And stamp forgiveness on my heart?
Where is the weary wanderer's rest?
Wilt Thou not bid my sorrows end?
Wilt Thou not calm my troubled breast,
And show forth all Thy gracious art,
And stamp forgiveness on my heart?
I know not how Thy love will deal
With such a poor, backsliding soul;
Yet let me hope Thy blood to feel,
Hope against hope to be made whole,
And humbly still Thy grace desire,
And weeping at Thy feet expire.
With such a poor, backsliding soul;
Yet let me hope Thy blood to feel,
Hope against hope to be made whole,
And humbly still Thy grace desire,
And weeping at Thy feet expire.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |