Hymns and Sacred Poems (1740)
| Author | Charles Wesley |
|---|---|
| Type | hymn-collection |
| Year | 1740 |
| Passage ID | cw-duke-hymns-and-sacred-poems-1740-033 |
| Words | 375 |
| Source | https://divinity.duke.edu/initiatives/wesleyan-methodist/... |
I thirst, thou wounded Lamb of God, To wash me in thy cleansing blood, To dwell within thy wounds; then pain Is sweet, and life or death is gain. 36Source: Nikolaus Ludwig von Zinzendorf, ed. Das Gesang-Buch der Gemeine in Herrn-Huth (Halle: Wäysenhaus, 1737). Composed of excerpts from four hymns in this collection: vv. 1-2 from 1197 (p. 1059, by Zinzendorf); vv. 3-6 from 1210 (p. 1068, by Johann Nitschmann); v. 7 from 1201 (p. 1061-62, by Zinzendorf); and v. 8 from 1233 (p. 1084-86, by Anna Nitschmann). Page 75 Take my poor heart, and let it be For ever closed to all but thee! Seal thou my breast, and let me wear That pledge of love for ever there. How blest are they, who still abide Close shelter'd in thy bleeding side! Who life, and strength from thence derive, And by thee move, and in thee live! What are our works but sin and death, Till thou thy quick'ning Spirit breathe! Thou giv'st the power thy grace to move O wond'rous grace! O boundless love! How can it be, thou heavenly King, That thou should'st us to glory bring? Make slaves the partners of thy throne, Deck'd with a never-fading crown. Hence our hearts melt, our eyes o'erflow, Our words are lost: nor will we know, Nor will we think of ought, beside "My Lord, my love is crucified." Ah Lord! Enlarge our scanty thought, To know the wonders thou hast wrought! Unloose our stamm'ring tongue, to tell Thy love, immense, unsearchable! Page 76 First-born of many brethren thou! To thee, lo! All our souls we bow. To thee our hearts and hands we give: Thine may we die; thine may we live. The Resignation.37 And wilt thou yet be found? And may I still draw near? Then listen to the plaintive sound Of a poor sinner's prayer. Jesu, thine aid afford, If still the same thou art; To thee I look, to thee, my Lord, Lift up an helpless heart. Thou seest my tortur'd breast, The strugglings of my will, The foes that interrupt my rest, The agonies I feel: The daily death I prove, Saviour, to thee is known: 'Tis worse than death, my God to love, And not my God alone.