Wesley Corpus

What tho' she in the desart pin'd, And languish'd for the light in vain, Her soul obedient and resign'd, Did darkly safe with God remain, Who led his trembling servant on, And bless'd her in a path unknown. Unconscious of the grace receiv'd, She mourn'd, as destitute of grace, A pattern to believers liv'd, And labour'd on with even pace, Possest of Mary's better part, And Martha's hands, and Lydia's heart. Page 33 No noisy self-deceiver she, No boaster vain of faith untry'd: Her own good deeds she could not see, But wrought, and cast them all aside; And when her glorious race was run, Complain'd, "She never yet begun." Hymn XVIII. On the Death of Mrs. Ann Wigginton, April 24, 1757. Part II. Soon as the warning angel came, That call'd her up to worlds on high, Meek as a death-devoted lamb, Yet starting, as unfit to die, Her nature's frailty she confest, And sunk upon her Saviour's breast. He own'd the soul so dearly lov'd, And cutting short his work of grace, Her sins insensibly remov'd, Made meet at once to see his face, And lo! Her latest fears are o'er, And pain and suffering is no more. One only labour yet remains, Her genuine faith to justify, One only care the spirit detains, When wing'd, and ready for the sky: That agony of love unknown, That cry in death, "My son, my son!" Can she her sucking child forget, In travail for his soul so long? Discharging nature's double debt, She warns him with a fault'ring tongue; She wins him by her latest breath, The mother of his soul in death. Page 34 By all the powers of love pursu'd, To Christ with holy violence driven, She claims him for the Saviour-God, She turns, and lifts his heart to heaven: In faith's almighty arms she bears, And crowns her counsels with her pray'rs. In vain her strength and language fail, Speechless she urges her request, She will with the God-man prevail: And now of all her wish possest, Smiling, she looks him back the praise, And heaven is open'd in her face. Those heavenly smiles distinctly tell The rapt'rous bliss her spirit feels, The glorious joy unspeakable, Which Christ to dying saints reveals; The sight, which none can here conceive, The sight, which none can see and live.