Wesley Corpus

Destroy me not by thy delay, Delay is endless death to me: But the last moment of my day Is as a thousand years to thee: Come, Jesus, while my head I bow, And shew me thy salvation now! "Is there no balm in Gilead?" Jer. viii. 22. Yes, there is, there is, my God, Balm, abundant balm in thee, Rivers of atoning blood, Streams of living purity! Pour the blood upon my soul, Plunge me in the cleansing wave, Close my wounds, and make me whole, Shew forth all thy skill to save. "O that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I might weep day and night for the slain of the daughter of my people!" Jer. ix. 1. I want the weeping prophet's heart: O might my Lord to me impart That bleeding sympathy! On me, thou Man of Griefs, bestow The spring of tears, the depth of woe, The love that was in thee. I would our desolate Sion mourn By vile intestine vipers torn, By endless tempests tost, A Babel of religious strife, Buried in forms, whose power and life Of godliness is lost. Or if thou hast a few restor'd, Yet strangers to their bleeding Lord Page 16 The multitude remain, Dead to a God they never knew, People, and priests, and princes too Are numbred with the slain. For these I would in secret grieve, Their burthen all day long receive, For these incessant pray, And many a mournful vigil keep, Water my couch with tears, and weep My pensive life away. Only regard my dying cries, And bid the ruin'd church arise Which more than life I love, Call all her sons out of their grave, And this whole house of Israel save To sing thy praise above. "Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, c." Jer. ix. 23. Let not the wise his wisdom boast, The mighty glory in his might, The rich in flattering riches trust Which take their everlasting flight; The rush of numerous years beats down The most gigantic strength of man, And where is all his wisdom gone, When dust, he turns to dust again!