Wesley Corpus

Page 94 In secret meditation On an expiring God, I wait the application Of Jesus' balmy blood. What but my faithful thinking On him who stain'd the tree, Can prop my nature sinking In its own misery? What but the sacred fountain Which purg'd a world of sin, Can move this guilty mountain, And give me peace within? When sick of sin I languish, My plague incurable, My wounded spirit's anguish Will men or angels heal? So desperate my condition, I only can confide In that divine physician Who for his patients died. His death the sinner raises With his own love reveal'd, My mouth is fill'd with praises, My heart with joy is fill'd; A blessed man forgiven, A sav'd, regenerate soul, I go in peace to heaven, When faith hath made me whole. No more amus'd by earthly things, Or worldly vanity, Father, my troubled spirit brings Its last distress to thee: Page 95 Spare me, a little longer spare, In feeble age I cry, Thou God, who hear'st the faintest prayer, And all my sins pass by. For this alone I wish to live, That I thy love may feel, Thy power a sinner to forgive, And all my sickness heal; To live, 'till I my strength regain Original, divine, Thy favour forfeited obtain, And in thine image shine. This only blessing I implore, The gift unspeakable, The Spirit of life and health and power, The witness, pledge, and seal: Nought differing from a servant I, 'Till thou thy Spirit impart, And hear him Abba Father cry In my poor broken heart. Him as a Spirit of binding fear Thou hast on me bestow'd, Sure token of redemption near With Jesus' sprinkled blood: The blessed hope lifts up my head, While in thy Spirit I groan, And call out of the deep, and plead The passion of thy Son. What Jesus' blood for me did buy May I not humbly claim? Thou canst not, Lord, my suit deny Who ask in Jesus' name: I ask what he hath made my right, A pardon full and free: And if thou dost in him delight, Thou art well-pleas'd with me. Page 96