Wesley Corpus

What recompence, or meet reward Shall sinners render to the Lord For all his saving grace? We only can with thanks receive, The utmost grace he deigns to give, And sing the giver's praise. Sav'd from the Romish fowler's snare, Our Saviour's glory to declare We joyfully agree: Jesus, we now thy praise proclaim, And rescued by thy conqu'ring name, Give back our lives to thee. Thou hast thy praying remnant heard, Thou hast our sinful Sodom spar'd For the ten righteous' sake: Thou between God and us hast stood, And pleaded thine atoning blood, And turn'd the waster back. Pluck'd as a brand out of the fire, Let us to greater things aspire, And mightier wonders see, Deliverance from death, hell and sin, From all these rebel foes within, And more than victory. Jesus, convert and stir us up With transport to receive the cup Of full salvation here: And let us then by love restor'd, Behold thee, our triumphant Lord, With all thy saints appear! Page 10 3A manuscript version of this hymn appears in MS Richmond Tracts, 1. Hymn VI.3 God of love, who hear'st the prayer Offer'd for a guilty land, Thou dost yet thy wrath forbear, Hold a-while thy lifted hand; Thou with bowels of compassion Giv'st us still a longer space: Turn us then, the sinful nation, Conquer by thy pard'ning grace. Thee in dreadful indignation Marching thro' the land we saw, Stopt by Israel's supplication, Lo! Thou dost the scourge withdraw: O that all might hear and tremble At the long-suspended rod, All in Jesu's name assemble, All confess the Son of God! Grant us in this awful crisis, Hearts thy warning to receive, Hearts to cast away our vices, Hearts to sorrow and believe: Humbly at thy footstool mourning, Let us groan thy face to see, Let us all at last returning, Find our help and rest in thee. Come, the contrite heart's desire, Friend of helpless sinners, come! Hear and answer us by fire, All our sins forgive consume, Humble us, and then deliver Whom thou dost a-while reprove, Save us then, and save for ever, God of everlasting love! Page 11 Hymn VII. While void of care, the chearful crowd In shouts and acclamations loud The festal time employ; Let us, who still the rod revere, With pitying grief and humble fear Correct the lighter joy.