Wesley Corpus

So soon they hear the Master's feet behind: He comes to wound, and heal! At his descent The mountains flow, the rocky hearts are rent; Numbers acknowledging their gracious day Turn to the Lord, and cast their sins away, And faint and sink, beneath their guilty load, Into the arms of a forgiving God. His Son reveal'd, they now exult to know, And after a despis'd Redeemer go, In all the works prepar'd their faith to prove, In patient hope, and fervency of love. How blest the messenger whom Jesus owns, How swift with the commission'd word he runs! The sacred fire shut up within his breast Breaks out again, the weary cannot rest, Page 13 Cannot consent his feeble flesh to spare, But rushes on, Jehovah's harbinger: His one delightful work, and stedfast aim To pluck poor souls as brands out of the flame, To scatter the good seed on every side, To spread the knowledge of the crucified, From a small spark a mighty fire to raise, And fill the continent with Jesus' praise. What recompence for all his endless toil? The Master pays him with a constant smile, With peace, and power, and comforts from above, Grace upon grace, and floods of rapt'rous love. When often spent and spiritless he lies, Jesus beholds him with propitious eyes, And looks him back his strength, and bids arise, Sends him again to run the lengthen'd race, Prospers his work, and shines on all his ways. The man of God, whom God delights t' approve In his great labours of parental love, Love of the little ones for these he cares, The lambs, the orphans, in his bosom bears; Page 14 Knowing in whom he trusts, provides a place, And spreads a table in the wilderness, A father of the fatherless, supplies Their daily wants with manna from the skies, In answer to his prayer so strangely given, His fervent prayer of faith that opens heaven. What mighty works the prayer of faith can do! The good of souls, and Jesus in his view, He sees the basis sure, which cannot fail, Laid by the true divine Zerubbabel; The rising house built up by swift degrees, The crowning-stone brought forth with shouts he sees: The Lord hath finish'd what his hands begun, Ascribe the gracious work to grace alone.