Wesley Corpus

Have I not heard, have I not known, That thou the everlasting Lord, Whom earth and heaven their Maker own, Art always faithful to thy word? Thou wilt not break a bruised reed, Or quench the faintest spark of grace, Till thro' the soul thy power is spread, Thy all-victorious righteousness. With labour faint thou wilt not fail, Or wearied give the sinner o'er, Till in this earth thy judgment dwell, And born of God I sin no more. The day of small and feeble things I know thou never wilt despise; I know, with healing in his wings, The Sun of righteousness shall rise. Page 88 My heart thou wilt anew create, The fulness of thy Spirit give: In stedfast hope for this I wait, And confident in Christ believe. Micah vi. 6, c. Wherewith, O God, shall I draw near, And bow myself before thy face? How in thy purer eyes appear? What shall I bring to gain thy grace? Will gifts delight the Lord most high? Will multiplied oblations please? Thousands of rams his favour buy, Or slaughter'd hecatombs appease? Can these asswage the wrath of God? Can these wash out my guilty stain? Rivers of oil, and seas of blood! Alas! They all must flow in vain. Shall I my darling Isaac give, Whate'er is dearest in my eyes? Wilt thou my soul and flesh receive A holy, living sacrifice? Page 89 Whoe'er to thee themselves approve, Must take the path thy word hath shew'd, Justice pursue, and mercy love, And humbly walk by faith with God. But tho' my life henceforth be thine, Future for past can ne'er atone; Tho' I to thee the whole resign, I only give thee back thine own. My hand performs, my heart aspires: But thou my works hast wrought in me; I render thee thine own desires, I breathe what first were breath'd from thee. What have I then wherein to trust? I nothing have, I nothing am: Excluded is my every boast, My glory swallow'd up in shame. Guilty I stand before thy face; I feel on me thy wrath abide: 'Tis just the sentence should take place: 'Tis just but O! Thy Son hath died! Jesus, the Lamb of God, hath bled, He bore our sins upon the tree, Beneath our curse he bow'd his head, 'TIS FINISH'D! He hath died for me! Page 90