Wesley Corpus

The labour of my aching breast, The racking fears to God are known; I could not in his danger rest, I trembled for my helpless son: But all my fears for ever cease, My son hath gain'd the port of peace. The travail of my soul is past, Severer than the mother's throes, For lo! My child is born at last, The glorious life of angels knows, He bursts yon ambient azure shell, He flies from us, with God to dwell. Look down, thou happy spirit, look down, An eye of pitying love let fall On us, who long to share thy crown, Who for that spotless mantle call, In which thou shalt for ever shine, That robe of righteousness divine. Great King of saints, to thee alone, For mercy, and for grace we pray: Thy glorious grace hath sav'd the son, The parents next to heaven convey, Page 39 Thy power and goodness to adore, Where death and parting is no more. Hymn XXII. On the Death of a Child. Part III. Jesus, our sure support thou art, Our only hope in deep distress; Thy comforts calm the troubled heart, And chear'd by thy victorious grace The mourner gives her wailings o'er, And Rachel weeps her loss no more. O might thy love our loss repair, This mountain-load of grief remove: The burthen we with patience bear, But cannot rest without thy love, But, till we hear thy pard'ning voice, We cannot in thy will rejoice. If thou hast wrought us, Lord, to this, If now thy chast'ning hand we see, Which strips us of our creature-bliss, To make us seek our bliss in thee; On us thy pard'ning love bestow, And bless us with that heaven below. If thou hast torn our child away, To make thyself the larger room; No longer, gracious Lord, delay, But to thy drooping servants come, And take up all this aching void, And fill our happy souls with God. Page 40 Hymn XXIII. On the Death of a Child. Part IV. Why should our hearts for ever bleed, Why should we still as hopeless mourn? The child is safe! The child is dead! And never shall to us return: But we to him shall soon arise, And clasp the saint in paradise.