Wesley Corpus

Thy pardon seek, like me distress'd, And find it, a mere sinner, now. "Ah, who the blessing will embrace, The tidings of great joy believe; Or urg'd, accept the proffer'd grace, As freely as my Lord would give? "To-day, while it is call'd to-day, Ye all my happiness may prove; Discharg'd when I had nought to pay, I go to thank my Lord above: Through the dark vale of death I go, Whom Jesus to himself doth bring; And triumph o'er my vanquish'd foe A feeble foe! Without a sting!" 'Twas thus the dying Christian spoke, Conqu'ror of death, and hell, and sin, While ev'ry accent, ev'ry look, Confess'd the heav'nly change within: How patient now, and meek, and mild, That spirit, which could never tame; As loving as a little child, As gentle as a harmless lamb. That all might Jesu's witness hear, Might own his Lord in him reveal'd, His reason, as his conscience clear, Its office to the last fulfill'd. "But what are nature's gifts," he cried "If Jesus were not pleas'd t' impart, To a poor sinner justifi'd, The comfort of a praying heart?" Just ready to depart in peace, He must a farther test sustain, The last good fight of great distress, And suffer more with Christ to reign; Rouz'd by his spirit's new-born cry, Satan and all his hosts assail, In vain to shake his faith they try, The Rock 'tis built on cannot fail. Part III. Mercy prolong'd his dying hours, That, wrestling with the hellish foe, With principalities and pow'rs,