Wesley Corpus

Page 69 Their ripest joy to share Exulting we ascend, And grasp our old companions there, And our eternal friend. Hymn XLIII. Another On the Death of Mr. Thomas Walsh, April 8, 1759. Aged 28. 'Tis finish'd, 'tis past, His conflict below, The sharpest and last He ever shall know! The fiery temptation Hath spent all its fires, The heir of salvation With triumph expires. The buffetting fiend Who push'd him so sore, And bruis'd to the end Shall bruise him no more: He trod on his bruiser And more than subdu'd Our hellish accuser Thro' Jesus's blood. Deprest by the cross He mounted the higher, He left all his dross And tin in the fire: He brought by his mourning The Comforter down, And Jesus returning Presented the crown. All praise to the Lord, All praise is his due: His merciful word Is tried, and found true: Page 70 Who his dereliction On Calvary bear, And share his affliction His kingdom shall share. O Saviour, to thee Our souls we commend, If nail'd to the tree We bleed to the end; We bear the full anguish, The uttermost load; But give us to languish, And suffer like God. Remember us then, And answer our call, When turning with pain Our face to the wall; In trouble stand by us, Till all is o'erpast, And chasten, and try us, But save us at last.