Wesley Corpus

With tender affection inspir'd, With pity for mountains of slain, My soul is of murtherers tir'd, And bitterly forc'd to complain; Heavy-laden, and weary of life, Whose sorrows and troubles increase, I pine for an end of the strife, I sigh for the blessing of peace. O peace, thou art banish'd and fled! The cause of our evils I see: By sin such a havock is made; By sin we have forfeited thee: No peace for the wicked there is, Unless we our wickedness mourn, No good for a nation like this, Unless to our God we return. O God, who art always the same, Whose nature is still to forgive, Permit us in Jesus's name To cry for a farther reprieve: Our sins let us fully confess, Our sins let us deeply deplore; And when from offending we cease, Thou wilt to thy favor restore. When once reconcil'd to our God, We shall with each other agree, Possest of the blessing bestow'd, And one with our Lord on the tree: His blood the alliance hath seal'd, The blessing his Spirit imparts, And peace with its author reveal'd Eternally reigns in our hearts!