Wesley Corpus

Crush the head he strives to hide, Subtle selfishness and pride, Malice, spite, and cruelty, All his works destroy in me. Root them out of Adam's race, Spread thy nature in their place, Mary's, God's eternal Son, Reign in all our hearts alone. "It shall bruise thy head." Gen. iii. 15. Rise, the woman's conquering seed, Against our common foe, Bruiser of the serpent's head, Inflict the mortal blow, Page 10 Vengeance on the tempter take Adjudg'd thine utmost wrath to bear, Cast into the burning lake, And bruis'd forever there. "Thou shalt bruise his heel." Gen. iii. 15. Satan himself fulfils thy word, He bruises now thy heel: The meanest follower of my Lord, His daily rage I feel: Yet shall I trample on his head, O'er all his enmity Victorious, when the woman's seed Forever reigns in me. "In sorrow thou shalt bring forth children, and thy husband shall rule over thee." Gen. iii. 16. Eager alas, for sensual good, Indulging thy ambition vain, What findst thou in that pleasant food, But bitterness of shame and pain? The punishment for the offence How just! How suitably applied Anguish to mortify thy sense, Subjection to chastise thy pride! "Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life: thorns also and thistles shall it bring forth to thee. In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground." Gen. iii. 17, 18, 19. Most righteous God, my doom I bear, My load of guilt, and pain, and care, Inslav'd to base desires, Hard-toiling for imbitter'd bread, I mourn my barren soul o'er-spread With cursed thorns and briars. Page 11 Death's sentence in myself receive, And dust, to dust already cleave, Exil'd from paradise, Hastning to hellish misery, Jesus, if unredeem'd by thee, My soul forever dies. But Jesus hath our sentence borne, He did in our affliction mourn, A man of sorrows made, A servant and a curse for me; He bears the utmost penalty, He suffers in my stead.