Wesley Corpus

O could I gain the mountain's height, And look upon that piteous sight! O that with Salem's daughters I Might stand and see my Saviour die, Smite on my breast and inly mourn, But never from thy cross return! Hymn VII. Come Holy Ghost, set to thy seal, Thine inward witness give, To all our waiting souls reveal The death by which we live. Spectators of the pangs divine O that we now may be, Discerning in the sacred sign His Passion on the tree. Give us to hear the dreadful sound Which told his mortal pain, Tore up the graves, and shook the ground, And rent the rocks in twain. Repeat the Saviour's dying cry In every heart so loud, That every heart may now reply This was the Son of God! Page 7 Hymn VIII. Come to the Supper come, Sinners there still is room; Every soul may be his guest, Jesus gives the general word; Share the monumental feast, Eat the Supper of your Lord. In this authentic sign Behold the stamp divine: Christ revives his sufferings here, Still exposes them to view, See the crucified appear, Now believe he died for you! Hymn IX.5 Come hither all, whose grov'ling taste Inslaves your souls, and lays them waste, Save your expence, and mend your chear: Here God himself's prepar'd and drest, Himself vouchsafes to be your feast, In whom alone all dainties are. Come hither all, whom tempting wine Bows to your father Belial's shrine, Sin all your boast, and sense your God: Weep now for what ye've drank amiss, And lose your taste of sensual bliss By drinking here your Saviour's blood. Come hither all, whom searching pain, And conscience's loud cries arraign, 5Source: George Herbert, The Temple (Cambridge: Buck Daniel, 1633), 174-75 (152). This adaptation appeared first in HSP (1739): 125-26; divided there into six stanzas. Page 8 Producing all your sins to view: Taste; and dismiss your guilty fear, O taste, and see that God is here, To heal your souls, and sin subdue. Come hither all, whom careless joy Doth with alluring force destroy While loose ye range beyond your bounds: True love is here, that passes quite, And all your transient mean delight Drowns, as a flood the lower grounds.