Wesley Corpus

Far from myself to thee, Thou sinner's friend, I fly, Forc'd out by my own misery To seek salvation nigh: Th' infallible relief Assur'd at last to prove, And lose my depths of sin and grief In thy abyss of love. One thing I now desire, While for thy love I stay, One blessing instantly require, And will not be said nay; Page 92 To genuine holiness 'Till thou my soul restore, Give joy or grief, give pain or ease, But bid me sin no more. And let this gross corporeal clay Clog the pure, ethereal ray, And weigh my spirit down, My spirit shall superior rise, If Jesus shews me from the skies That everlasting crown. Sick, and in pain, why should I grieve? "Troubled heart in me believe, And heaven, he saith, is thine:" He went before, that all who mourn Might triumph in his swift return, And see the face divine. Fulness of joy his presence gives, Heaven its heavenliness receives, When him unveil'd we see: Of all our bliss the fount and root, The tree, the blossom, and the fruit Is immortality. My immortality thou art, Glorious earnest in my heart, Jesus, to me be given: Of thee possest, I ask no more, But happy in thy love adore The joy of earth and heaven. O thou, whose kind compassion Hath lengthen'd out my day, To see thy great salvation Still in the flesh I stay: Page 93 Thyself the cause unfoldest Of all thy patient grace, My soul in life thou holdest, That I may see thy face. For this, as tottering over The grave I feebly stand, 'Till thou thyself discover, And bring me safe to land; I live, tho' daily dying, And languish for that peace, And wait that blood's applying Which signs my soul's release. My God, thou wilt not leave me, When strength and friends depart, But graciously forgive me, And seal it on my heart In joy beyond expressing In comforts from above, In every gospel blessing, In all the life of love. Come then my consolation, My life beyond the grave, And shew me thy salvation, And by thy presence save: In faith's most strict embraces O might I compass thee, And then in heavenly places Thy face for ever see. Of a dejected spirit I want the sovereign cure, The all-atoning merit Which makes salvation sure: