Wesley Corpus

No thanks to me my Master owes For works which he himself hath wrought; Grace only the reward bestows For every gracious word and thought, And when I his commands have done, The praise, I trow, is all his own. I have but done my duty, Lord, When answering all thy welcome will, I cannot speak one boasting word, But most unprofitable still, The meanest of thy servants I, The chief of sinners live and die. "Were there not ten cleansed? But where are the nine?" Luke xvii. 17. Where are the nine? Alas, my God, We soon forgot thy cleansing blood; But lo, I now at last return, My base ingratitude to mourn, Thy pardning love to glorify, Thy confessor to live, and die. "There are not found that returned to give glory to God, save this stranger." Luke xvii. 18. Jesus, by whom redeem'd I live, With joyful lips to thee I give The glory of thy love, And on the wings of angels borne, Shall soon triumphantly return, To sing thy praise above. "Remember Lot's wife." Luke xvii. 32. Ingrave her doom upon my heart, That I may never wish to part,