Wesley Corpus

My bowels of compassion Thou dost vouchsafe to feel, With vehement deprecation While nature's wish I tell; Ah, do not yet receive him To that celestial quire, But hasten to relieve him, Before my son expire. This sorrowful petition Obtain'd thy gracious ear, 31This hymn was written concerning Charles and Sarah Wesley's first child, John, born in August 1752. He died 7 January 1754. A manuscript version of the first half is present in MS Travail, 13. Page 105 When our divine physician Thou didst on earth appear: And still I sue for favour, And still invoke thy name, Jesus, my present Saviour, Eternally the same. Bidden in time of trouble For help to call on thee, Lord, I my suit redouble, 'Till thy design I see: I never will give over My passionate request, 'Till thou the child recover, Or take him to thy breast. Father, thy froward children spare, Who tempt thee by our daily prayer, And while we say, thy will be done, Alas, we only mean our own. Yet now permit the sad request Of parents for their son distrest, Nature's infirmity forgive, If still we ask that he may live. Prostrate before thy mercy-seat We ask; but would our will submit, Whene'er thy sovereign will remove The child, whom next to thee we love. We would our earthly bliss resign, Bestow'd, revok'd, by grace divine, (If call'd with more than life to part,) And tear him from our bleeding heart. But O, before the fixt decree Bring forth, may we not cry to thee, Page 106 Our weakness and reluctance own, And for the faith of Abraham groan? We want our wishes to suspend, On thy decisive word t' attend, Our wishes at thy feet we lay, And calmly weep, and humbly pray. Yet shall, we Lord, our hearts disguise, Or hide from thy all-seeing eyes? Our hearts, 'till we thy counsel know, Will deprecate the threaten'd blow. Joy of our eyes, our heart's desire, Ah, do not now our child require: Or taking whom thy mercy gave, Indulge us with a common grave. There let our mingled ashes lie, Where no forlorn survivors sigh, Where none their ravish'd joys deplore, And Rachel weeps her loss no more. There but we know not what to say, Father, aright we cannot pray But Jesus reads the troubled breast O let his bowels speak the rest!