Wesley Corpus

If to thy hand of power I stoop, Thy hand of love shall lift me up To heights of holiness unknown, Thy love's omnipotence shall raise The vessel of thy perfect grace, And seat me on thy glorious throne. "Ye have omitted the weightier matters of the law." Matt. xxiii. 23. May I, observant of the least, Most careful in the greatest prove, And shew throughout my life exprest Justice, fidelity, and love. Page 183 "Ye strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel." Matt. xxiii. 24.14 Hear this, who at a trifle strain, So strict and obstinate and proud, Who keep the private rules of men, And break the open laws of God! "How can ye escape the damnation of hell?" Matt. xxiii. 33. By turning now to thee our Lord, Tho' to the brink of Tophet driven, We all may 'scape the dreadful word, We all may fly from hell to heaven. "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem!" Matt. xxiii. 37. How kindly, Lord, dost thou lament Their sinful misery, Who will not, while they may, repent, And thy salvation see! Jerusalem, whoe'er deny, Jerusalem shall prove Thou wouldst not have one sinner die Excluded from thy love. "I would, and ye would not." Matt. xxiii. 37. "I would, and ye would not," What daring blasphemy, For reprobates so dearly bought To charge their death on thee! But O before they die, The reprobates forgive, And by thy gracious will may I With them for ever live. "How often would I have gathered thy children!" Matt. xxiii. 37. How often who can tell! The heights of love unknown, The depths unsearchable Are hid in Christ alone: 14Ori., "23"; a misprint. Page 184 But shelter'd now within My dear Redeemer's breast, Secure from hell and sin I shall forever rest. "The love of the many shall wax cold." Matt. xxiv. 12. That universal love sincere Where is it to be found? Out of the mouth of most we hear The word's unmeaning sound: But O, how few the saints that know Their Saviour's perfect mind, Whose hearts with charity o'erflow To all the ransom'd kind! If my own party I approve, And cleave to my own sect, Holding the few with partial love, The many I reject; My nature's narrowness I feel, Myself I blindly seek, And still a slave in Babel dwell, A shackled schismatick.