Wesley Corpus

Jesus, the fame of thy great name My sinsick soul allures: Still in every age the same, I hear, its virtue cures. Page 165 With humble fear I now draw near49 In my forlorn condition, Thy balsamic words to hear, And prove thee my physician. In complicate distress I wait My plague no more concealing: Pity my forlorn estate, And shew thy power of healing. The leprosy that cleaves to me Thine only touch can cure; Sin before thy touch shall flee, And leave my conscience pure. Throughout my veins a fever reigns Of pride and fierce desire: Let thy love remove my pains, And quench this hellish fire. Of creature bliss my nature is Rapacious above measure: Heal this dropsical disease, This thirst of praise and pleasure. Benumb'd by sin I long have been, As past all sense of feeling: Cure the palsy, Lord, within, Thy hidden life revealing. An issue foul hath fill'd my soul With pain and desperation, But thy word shall make me whole With sensible salvation. Now then exert thy gracious art To finish my distresses, Drive the legion from my heart, Of devils and diseases. 49The word "near" is missing in both editions, but clearly implied by needed rhyme. Page 166 O that I might receive my sight Thro' thine almighty power! Turn my darkness into light, And now my faith restore. Helpless and lame in soul I am, But let thy grace be given, I thro' virtue of thy name Shall leap, and fly to heaven. Speechless am I, till thy kind sigh From this dumb fiend deliver; Then my Lord, my God I cry, And sing, and shout for ever! What shall I do to love thee Who lov'st my soul so well? Saviour, will nothing move thee Thy goodness to reveal? Without the revelation So dearly purchas'd I In final condemnation Must sink, despair, and die. Wretched, and miserable, Naked, and poor, and blind, Thou know'st me quite unable Thy precious love to find, Unless, my heavenly lover, The bleeding mystery Thou in my heart discover, And shew thyself to me. The cause of my salvation Must all in thee be found; Stir up thy own compassion, And let thy bowels sound: Page 167 I faint, for mercy crying As with my latest groan, I in my blood am dying For whom thou pour'dst thine own.