Wesley Corpus

Thy power, and truth, and love divine The same from age to age endure: A word, a gracious word of thine The most inveterate plague can cure. Thy garment, O thou pardning God, Affords the desp'rate soul relief, Dries up the fountain of my blood, And heals at once my sin and grief. Touch'd by thine all-restoring hands I find a soul-erecting power, Suddenly loos'd from Satan's bands I stand inclin'd to earth no more. Helpless howe'er my spirit lies, (And long hath languish'd) at the pool, A word of thine shall make me rise Shall speak me in a moment whole. Eighteen, or eight and thirty years, Or thousands are alike to thee: Soon as thy saving grace appears, My plague is gone, my heart is free. Come then, dear60 Lord, my sins forgive, My complicated sickness heal, Thou knowst, I would in thee believe, I would thy pardning mercy feel. Make this the acceptable hour, Come, O my soul's physician thou, Display thy justifying power, And shew me thy salvation now! 60John Wesley substituted "O" for "dear" in manuscript in his personal copy of the 2nd edn. (1755). Page 94 Waiting for Redemption. Hymn I.61 Who is the trembling sinner, who That owns eternal death his due, Waiting his fearful doom to feel, And hanging o'er the mouth of hell! Peace, troubled soul, thou needst not fear, Thy Jesus cries, Be of good chear, Only on Jesu's blood rely, He died, that thou mightst never die. Waiting for Redemption. Hymn II.62 A guilty soul, by sin opprest, Weary of wandring after rest, Wretched, and bare, and poor, and blind, I now my want of all things find. All things I want, but one is nigh, My want of all things to supply: Pardon, and peace, and liberty, Jesus, I all things have in thee. Waiting for Redemption. Hymn III.63 Jesu, thy word for ever lives, A new accomplishment receives 61A manuscript precursor of this hymn appears in MS Cheshunt, 167. 62Manuscript precursors of this hymn appear in MS Cheshunt, 88; and MS Clarke, 101. 63Manuscript precursors of this hymn appear in MS Shent, 104a-104b; and MS Thirty, 20-21. Page 95 In sinners lost like me; Thy word doth all my soul express, In every picture of distress I read my misery.