Wesley Corpus

Have I not fought against my God, (Alas no longer mine) Refus'd to hear the threatning rod, And dar'd the wrath divine? From him I farther still have stray'd, Still more rebellious been, Of faith a dreadful shipwreck made, And added sin to sin. Vilest of all th' apostate race I have his love withstood, And sinn'd against his pardning grace, And trampled on his blood. That blood, which speaking once for me My heart and conscience heard: But harden'd now my heart I see, My conscience now is sear'd. 68A manuscript precursor of this hymn appears in MS Clarke, 206-8. Page 108 More desp'rate in my damn'd estate, And more inslav'd I am, Than when I by the flesh-pots sat, And wallow'd in my shame. No power to stand against my sin, No will, alas! Have I; But yield to every thought unclean, And greedily comply. Draughts of iniquity I drink, From sin to sin I fall; Whate'er I do, or speak, or think, Or am, is evil all. What shall I do? By guilt opprest, Shall I in Egypt dwell? Alas! In sinning to seek rest, Is to seek rest in hell. Shall I believe, who made the eye My folly doth not see, "Sin in his own he passes by, He winks at sin in me?" Ah! No; my spirit's desp'rate wound I cannot slightly heal; No peace is for the wicked found, The sea is troubled still. The storm of sin can never cease, The tumult in my breast, Unless the Lord create my peace, And speak me into rest. This is my only hope (might I Presume to call it mine) My soul, tho' at the point to die, Would live by grace divine. Page 109 The grace I have abus'd, alone Can help and comfort give, Would Jesus hear my dying groan, And bid the sinner live. Ah! Lord, if I again may dare For mercy to look up, Snatch from the whirlpool of despair, And give me back my hope. Jesus, the forfeiture restore, On me the grace bestow, On even ground to stand once more Against my mortal foe. To day, while it is call'd to day, My stubborn soul convert, Strike the hard rock, and strike away The stony from my heart.