Wesley Corpus

Thou knowst my sad case, I am fallen from grace, And possest by a spirit unclean; I have lost all my power, I am every hour Dropping into the Tophet of sin. How weak was my heart With my Saviour to part, Who had sprinkled me once with his blood! Yet I threw off his yoke, And presumptuously broke From the arms of a merciful God. Now I languish in vain Thy love to regain, But find for repentance no place: Thou hast left me to mourn, And I cannot return, Or recover thy forfeited grace. Ah! What shall I say? I have squander'd away My portion of mercy divine; I have sinn'd in thy sight, I have done thee despight, And gone back to my husks, and my swine. 77A manuscript precursor of this hymn appears in MS Occasional Hymns, 62-64. Page 128 Nothing is there in me Thy glory can see, But the fulness of passion and pride, My heart is unclean, My whole nature is sin, In the confines of hell I abide. O how shall I move Thy compassion and love To consider my desperate grief? I can only confess My sin and distress, And go out of myself for relief. To the fountain I go, Which so freely did flow In pardons from Jesus his side: O my Saviour, and God, Let the water and blood Be again to my conscience applied. Do not look upon me But as ransom'd by thee; Remember, O Lord, what thou art: A meer sinner I am, But I call on thy name, I appeal to thy pitiful heart. Now, now let me die, At thy feet while I lie, Delight, if thou canst, in my death, But I surely shall feel, E'er I fall into hell, That the arms of thy love are beneath. Page 129 Hymns for One Fallen from Grace. Hymn XVII. O wretched man of hopeless grief! What shall I do, or whither fly? Shut up in sin, and unbelief, Afraid to live, afraid to die, In bitterness of soul I mourn, And rue the day that I was born. Is there no balm in Gilead found? Is there no kind physician there, To heal my spirit's desperate wound, To mitigate my sad despair? No word t' asswage my misery, No promise of relief for me?