Wesley Corpus

Family Hymns (1767)

AuthorCharles Wesley
Typehymn-collection
Year1767
Passage IDcw-duke-family-hymns-1767-046
Words371
Sourcehttps://divinity.duke.edu/initiatives/wesleyan-methodist/...
Pneumatology Reign of God Christology
Thy Spirit now if thou infuse, My latter end I wisely weigh, No more th' important moments lose, No more neglect to watch and pray: Stir'd up to seek the God unknown My soul awakes to righteousness, And strives, and pants, and wrestles on For power to live and die in peace. This instant now I cease from sin, This instant now I turn to thee, And trust thy blood to make me clean From all, from all impurity: The current of thy powerful blood Shall all my mountain-sins remove, Wash off, wash out my nature's load, And waft me to the port above. Most sensibly declining, Born to resign my breath, Why should I live repining At the approach of death? In peevish lamentation For life I cannot cry, Appointed to salvation, And joys that never die. O were that point secured, My sorrows all would cease, O were my soul assured Of everlasting peace. Saviour, I want the witness Of my felicity, And languish for that meetness To share a throne with thee. Thy Spirit's attestation Added, O God, to mine, Page 99 Must be the confirmation That I am truly thine: With faith and love inspire Thy Spirit into my heart, And let the sanctifier Dispose me to depart. Thy manifested favour Better than life I feel, When conscious that my Saviour Doth in his servant dwell: The rapturous sensation Restores my paradise, Prepares for my translation, And wafts me to the skies. Come then my hope of glory, My unprecarious peace, My joy untransitory, My perfect righteousness, The kingdom of thy Spirit Establish, Lord, in me, And take me up t' inherit My heaven of heavens in thee. Weary of this daily dying, Crush'd with my own misery, Lord, thou hear'st thy creature crying After real life in thee: Friend of helpless sinners, ease me By thy last distresful cries, By thy mortal pangs release me From the death that never dies. Guilt my troubled spirit harrows, Gives to death his dread array, Points his sting, and wings his arrows, Arms him with his power to slay: Page 100 Only thy tremendous passion Can my fears and sins controul, Save from endless condemnation, Pacify my ransom'd soul.