Wesley Corpus

Jesus but O! At last He shuts his mercy's door; My doom is fixt, my hour is past; He answers me no more; My days extinct, my hope Cut off, my heart is stone, The measure of my sin fill'd up, And peace for ever gone. The sin-avenging God His fiery wrath darts in, Adds woe to woe, and load to load, And chastens sin with sin: Page 114 The pangs of hell I taste, The bitter trembling cup; His arrows in my soul stick fast, And drink my spirits up. O horrid, horrid state! O depth of hopeless woe! Why do I in this torture wait, And not the utmost know? Why do I lingring stand, And not myself relieve? It must be God that stops my hand, And forces me to live. But is it possible That God should care for me! Then may he yet my doom repeal, And end my misery. He may for Jesu's sake: Jesus, the sinner's peace, Into thy hands the matter take, And all my griefs shall cease. Save me! I ask not how? But save me in this hour: O snatch me from destruction now, Nor let the foe devour: I ask not instant rest, But let me bear my load, And find at last my Saviour's breast, And sink into my God. This is my utmost hope (When all thy wrath is past, When I have drunk the poison up,) To taste thy love at last; When I have borne my shame, And suffer'd all my sin, Open thine arms, thou lovely Lamb, And take the sinner in. Page 115 If hope be in my end, I all things else resign: Yet on thy sufferings I depend, And not, O Lord, on mine. But let me hide my face, And sink into the dust, 'Till thou at last restore thy grace, And freely save the lost. The reconciling word I would not now receive; If I had call'd, and heard my Lord, I should not dare believe: No, no, it is not meet That I should comfort gain: Still let me lie at thy dear feet, And suffer all my pain.