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 | The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley |  |
LXXV. THE SAME.
Hymn 25.
[What shall an helpless sinner do]
What shall an helpless sinner do
Who long from God have fell?
Satan, the world, and sin pursue,
And hunt me down to hell.
Who long from God have fell?
Satan, the world, and sin pursue,
And hunt me down to hell.
423
Entangled in the fowler's snare,
The toils of sin, I lie,
Bound with the fetters of despair,
And wish, and fear to die.
The toils of sin, I lie,
Bound with the fetters of despair,
And wish, and fear to die.
Out of the deep I cry, and mourn
In hopeless misery,
My breast with raging passions torn
Is all a troubled sea.
In hopeless misery,
My breast with raging passions torn
Is all a troubled sea.
Whate'er a Christless soul can wound
I feel, I feel it here;
But not a fiend in hell is found
So fierce as guilty fear.
I feel, I feel it here;
But not a fiend in hell is found
So fierce as guilty fear.
Abandon'd to the fury's will,
I prove her utmost power,
And twice ten thousand deaths I feel,
Yet live to suffer more.
I prove her utmost power,
And twice ten thousand deaths I feel,
Yet live to suffer more.
With me the ghastly spectre walks
In every secret shade,
In all her horrid forms she stalks
Around my sleepless bed.
In every secret shade,
In all her horrid forms she stalks
Around my sleepless bed.
She seizes, holds, and weighs me down,
Strangles my infant hope,
Harrows me with her chilling frown,
And drinks my spirits up.
Strangles my infant hope,
Harrows me with her chilling frown,
And drinks my spirits up.
The world she sets in fierce array,
The murderers of my fame,
Anticipates the dreadful day,
And blazons all my shame.
The murderers of my fame,
Anticipates the dreadful day,
And blazons all my shame.
My every weakness she bewrays,
And swells into a crime,
Torments me with severe disgrace,
Torments—before my time.
And swells into a crime,
Torments me with severe disgrace,
Torments—before my time.
424
My poor despairing soul she racks
With agonizing smart,
Her whip of knotted vipers shakes,
And tears my bleeding heart.
With agonizing smart,
Her whip of knotted vipers shakes,
And tears my bleeding heart.
She mocks my unavailing cry,
When crush'd beneath my load,
Where'er I look, where'er I fly,
Presents an angry God.
When crush'd beneath my load,
Where'er I look, where'er I fly,
Presents an angry God.
The burning pit she open throws,
The hellish misery,
And tells me, these eternal woes
Are all reserved for me.
The hellish misery,
And tells me, these eternal woes
Are all reserved for me.
My soul shrinks back—but O! to whom
Or whither shall I run?
Will God the Just reverse my doom,
And hear my latest groan?
Or whither shall I run?
Will God the Just reverse my doom,
And hear my latest groan?
His anger most of all I fear,
And dread to meet His eye,
Yet O! unless I find Him near,
I must for ever die.
And dread to meet His eye,
Yet O! unless I find Him near,
I must for ever die.
See then I at Thy feet once more
My guilty spirit cast,
Here (if Thou wilt not yet restore)
Resolved to groan my last.
My guilty spirit cast,
Here (if Thou wilt not yet restore)
Resolved to groan my last.
| The poetical works of John and Charles Wesley | |