Wesley Corpus

Page 33 His prowess in our troops we prove, His goodness in our king we love. Let every instrument disclaim The honours due to Jesus' name: Him only wise and good confess, Him our Almighty Saviour bless, And praise the Rock that cannot move, The Rock of everlasting LOVE. Hymn XV. Unless the Most High For Israel had stood, (Our Israel may cry Triumphantly loud) Our foes on our nation Their fury had pour'd, And wide desolation Our country devour'd. But prais'd be the Lord, Our refuge and hope, A prey to the sword He gave us not up: Their plots he hath blasted, Their armaments foil'd, The ravagers wasted, The pillagers spoil'd. Give glory to God, Who sits on the throne, And scatters the proud, And rescues his own! Our best adoration To him we will give, And all his salvation With rapture receive. Page 34 Our safety on him Alone doth depend; Who now doth redeem Shall save to the end: Almighty Creator, We rest in thy name, We trust in thy nature, Forever the same. Thy name we adore, Thine attributes praise, Truth, wisdom, and power, And justice, and grace! To ransom and bless us, Thou cam'st from above; Thy name it is Jesus, Thy nature is LOVE. This token for good We thankfully take, Our safety bestow'd, For Jesus's sake; Our lives as a favour From God we receive, And trust with our Saviour Forever to live. Hymn XVI. While Britain's sons their trophies raise, Triumphant, as in full success, And bliss without alloy, Let pity for our bleeding foes, Let love, which no distinction knows, Correct the general joy. Our country sav'd from sword and fire, Doth every Briton's thanks require, Page 35 And lifts our hearts to God; But can we, Lord, delight to see These scenes of human misery, This waste of Christian blood? We mourn the slaughter'd sons of Gaul, We tremble, while thy judgments fall On our invader's head: Their lives to ransom ours are given, And crouds out of the body driven, Have perish'd in our stead. The thousands whom our hands have slain Do we, alas, who still remain, In holiness excel? Our army, is it not, like theirs, A bundle of devoted tares, Our fleet a floating hell?