Wesley Corpus

His Spirit's gentlest art Open'd thy simple heart: The eternal gospel-word Lydia like thou didst receive, Fall before thy bleeding Lord, Own him, and with ease believe. Soon as thy heart did feel The pardon-stamping seal, Heard thy soul the warning-cry, "Here thou hast not long to stay; Rise, my love, make haste to die! Rise, my love, and come away!" Thy chearful soul obey'd, Thro' sufferings perfect made, Perfect made in a short space: Thy resign'd and Christ-like soul Started forth, and won the race, Reach'd at once the glorious goal. Page 64 Aloft the spirit flies, And gains her native skies! Kindred souls salute her there, Springing from their azure throne, All in shouts their joy declare, All their new-born sister own. Th' angelic army sings, And clap their golden wings! Harping with their harps, they praise Him, thro' whom she all o'ercame, Sharer of his richest grace, Closest follower of the Lamb. From love's soft witchcraft free, Her spotless purity Liv'd to only Christ below; Higher now she reigns above, Mightier joys advanc'd to know, Honour'd with his choicest love. Page 65 Among the morning stars A brighter crown she wears, With peculiar glories grac'd, Seated on a loftier throne, To superior raptures rais'd, Nearest God's eternal Son. Mixt with the virgin-train, She charms th' etherial plain; With the Lamb for ever found: Angels listen while she sings, Catch th' inimitable sound, Musick for the King of kings. O happy, happy soul! Thy heavenly joy is full: Thee the Lamb hath made his bride, Call'd thee to his feast above, Thee he now hath glorify'd, Taught thee the new song of love. Page 66 O that at last ev'n I Like thee might sweetly die! Die, and leave a world of woe; Die out of the reach of sin; Die, the joys of heaven to know; Open, Lord, and take me in. Give me thy bliss to share The meanest spirit there: Only let me see thy face, See with thee my happier friend, At an awful distance gaze, Taste the joys that never end. Thou wilt cut short my years, And wipe away my tears: Lo! I wait thy leisure still, Humbly at thy footstool lie, Calm to suffer all thy will, Glad in thee to live and die.