Wesley Corpus

Page 152 When he hears the sinner's cry, O how ready to reply! "Jesus, come, thy servant heal," Jesus answers me, "I will." "Jesus marvelled." Matt. viii. 10. But doth it, Lord, thy wonder raise The faith thou hast thyself bestow'd? O what a mystery of grace! The man in Christ admires the God! "He touched her hand, and the fever left her." Matt. viii. 15. Lord, I believe thy sprinkled blood Can quench the fever's fiercest fire: My thirst of praise, and creature-good Now let it at thy touch retire, Now let me rise, thro' faith restor'd, And serve the servants of my Lord. "The Son of man hath not where to lay his head." Matt. viii. 20. Away this soft, luxurious pride! A pilgrim rather let me rove, Poor with the Son of man abide, And have no comfort, but his love! "Let the dead bury their dead." Matt. viii. 22. Excus'd from every needless care, My privilege I see, Jesus, thine only burthen bear, And live, to follow thee. "Lord, save us: we perish." Matt. viii. 25. Save, Lord, because unsav'd by thee Unsav'd I must forever be: Without thine utmost grace undone I venture on a God unknown, And boldly now my soul I dart Into the center of thine heart.