Scripture Hymns (1762) Vol 1
| Author | Charles Wesley |
|---|---|
| Type | hymn-collection |
| Year | 1762 |
| Passage ID | cw-duke-scripture-hymns-1762-vol-1-188 |
| Words | 394 |
| Source | https://divinity.duke.edu/initiatives/wesleyan-methodist/... |
Thy visage marr'd to me reveal, Marr'd with pangs unspeakable, With sweat and tears and blood! Thou light of life eternal shine, And thro' that mangled form of thine I see my Lord, my God! "When a few years are come, then I shall go the way whence I shall not return." Job xvi. 22. I wait a few sorrowful years, And then I no longer shall mourn, But flee from the valley of tears A way I shall never return: From earth I shall quickly remove To sure everlasting abodes, And sing with the spirits above, And triumph with angels and gods. "My breath is corrupt, my days are extinct, the graves are ready for me." Job xvii. 1. My days are extinguish'd and gone, My time as a shadow is fled, And gladly I lay myself down To rest with the peaceable dead: The dead ever-living attend, Whose dust is all safe in the tomb, And many a glorified friend Is ready to welcome me home. Page 238 "My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart." Job xvii. 11. My days are all vanish'd away, Broke off the designs of my heart, No longer on earth I delay, Or linger, as loth to depart: Resolv'd in my Lord to abide, This purpose, I know, shall remain, And trust to be found at his side, And Jesus eternally gain. "I have made my bed." Job xvii. 13. Ready for my earthen bed, Let me rest my fainting head, Welcome life's expected close, Sink in permanent repose: Jesu's blood to which I fly Doth my conscience purify, Signs my weary soul's release, Bids me now depart in peace. Thus do I my bed prepare; O how soft, when Christ is there! There my breathless Saviour laid Turns it to a spicy bed: Resting in his power to save, Looking now beyond the grave, Calm I lay my body down, Rise to an immortal crown. "Mine hope hath he removed like a tree." Job xix. 10. My hope of creature-good I see Cut down, and wither'd, like a tree, It never more on earth shall grow, Or strike its root in things below: But from the sand my Father's love Doth to the Rock my hope remove, Among the trees of paradise To bloom eternal in the skies.