Hymns and Sacred Poems (1749) Vol 2
| Author | Charles Wesley |
|---|---|
| Type | hymn-collection |
| Year | 1749 |
| Passage ID | cw-duke-hymns-and-sacred-poems-1749-vol-2-030 |
| Words | 383 |
| Source | https://divinity.duke.edu/initiatives/wesleyan-methodist/... |
Earth and hell their counsel take Thy servant to devour, Do not, Lord, my soul forsake, Nor leave me to their power; Be not thou mine enemy, Nor in thy fierce displeasure chide; See, the helpless sinner see, For whom thy Son hath died. 39A partial manuscript version of this hymn appears in MS Richmond, 19. Page 47 Let the gathering storm descend, Let the triumphant foe Sweep away my dearest friend, My every good below, Vent his utmost rage on me, So thou my God art pacified; See, the helpless sinner see For whom thy Son hath died. Lord, I will not deprecate The utmost sufferings here, Let the world condemn, and hate, If thou in mercy clear: Let them set their brand on me, So thou pronounce me justified; See, the helpless sinner see, For whom thy Son hath died. On the Loss of His Friends. Hymn VIII. For Midnight.41 At this solemn noon of night, Lo! I rise to sing thy praise, All thy judgments, Lord, are right, True, and holy all thy ways: Dark, and grievous though they be, Just are all thy ways to me. Glory to the God unknown! Chasten'd from my infant years, Thy afflictive love I own, Mingle praises with my tears, Bless thee for my troubles past, Calmly wait to feel the last. Thee I awfully adore, Bruis'd by thy severest rod; 40Ori., "4". Next stanza: ori., "5" (error occurs in both editions). 41A manuscript precursor of this hymn appears in MS Occasional Hymns, 25-27. Page 48 Strengthen me to suffer more, Still increase my heaviest load, Child of sorrow from the womb Send me weeping to the tomb. Still in weariness, and pain, Will I a sad vigil keep, Lift my mournful eyes again, Only wake, to pray, and weep, To my midnight task return, Bless thee for my power to mourn. O how gracious is thy love, Thus to strip me of my joy! All my comforts to remove, All my idols to destroy, Forc'd by stress of misery Happiness to seek in thee. Wounded in the tenderest part, Spoil'd of all my friends below, Can I thank thee from my heart, Bless the hand that deals the blow? Lord, beneath thy hand I bow; What thou dost I know not now.