Wesley Corpus

Were I from all my pain Miraculously freed, Might I receive again My Isaac from the dead, He still should on thine altar lie, 'Till both translated were, And met each other in the sky, And met the Saviour there! On the Loss of His Friends. Hymn X. Jonah's Gourd.50 Where is the gourd, that sudden rose To skreen a weary pilgrim's head, T' assuage the violence of my woes, And bless me with its cooling shade, Make all my cares, and sorrows cease, And turn my anguish into ease? A worm hath smote my verdant bower, And lo! How soon it fades away! It could not stand the morning hour, Or bear the scorching heat of day: My wither'd joy, alas, is fled, My fence is gone my friend is dead. Dead, dead are all my hopes below, On earth I look for no relief:51 No pause, or interval of woe, No respite, or suspense of grief,52 My short-liv'd happiness is o'er, And human friendship is no more.53 50A manuscript precursor of this hymn appears in MS Occasional Hymns, 34-35. Cf. Jonah 4:5-8. 51John Wesley underlined "I look for no relief" in his personal copy of the 2nd edn. (1756), placing an "!" in the margin. 52John Wesley underlined this and the previous line in his personal copy of the 2nd edn. (1756). 53John Wesley underlined "friendship is no more" in his personal copy of the 2nd edn. (1756). Page 51 The fiery sun's directest ray, The veh'ement wind's severest blast Beat on me in this evil day: O might I now complain my last, Now, now lay down my fainting head, And weary sink among the dead! Better for me to die, than live An useless life of grief and pain: O wouldst thou, Lord, my spi'rit receive! But purge it first from every stain, From all my foes, and friends set free, And then receive me up to thee. On the Loss of His Friends. Hymn XI.54 O 'tis enough! My God, my God, Thy hand with-hold, thy wrath forbear; Spare, for I hear the speaking rod, Thy prodigal in mercy spare, And in thy gracious arms embrace, And kiss the sorrow from my face.