Wesley Corpus

Thy chearful soul obey'd, Thro' sufferings14 perfect made, Perfect made in a short space, Thy resign'd, and Christ-like soul, Started forth, and won the race, Reach'd at once the glorious goal. Aloft the spirit flies, And gains her native skies! Kindred souls salute her there, Springing from their15 azure throne, All in shouts their joy declare, All their new-born sister own. Th' angelic army sings, And clap their golden wings! Harping with their harps they praise Him, thro' whom she all o'ercame, Sharer of his richest grace, Closest follower of the Lamb. From love's soft witchcraft free Her spotless purity Liv'd to only Christ below; Higher now she reigns above, Mightier joys advanc'd to know, Honour'd with his choicest love. Among the morning-stars A brighter crown she wears, With peculiar glories grac'd, Seated on a loftier throne, To superior raptures rais'd, Nearest God's eternal Son. 14"Sufferings" changed to "suffering" in 2nd edn. (1746) and following. 15"Their" changed to "the" in 3rd edn. (London, 1753) and following. Page 19 Mixt with the virgin-train She charms th' etherial plain, With the Lamb for ever found; Angels listen while she sings, Catch th' inimitable sound, Music for the King of kings. O happy happy soul, Thy heavenly joy is full! Thee the Lamb hath made his bride, Call'd thee to his feast above, Thee he now hath glorified, Taught thee the new song of love. O that at last ev'n I, Like thee might sweetly die! Die, and leave a16 world of woe, Die out of the reach of sin, Die the joys of heaven to know; Open, Lord, and take me in! Give me thy bliss to share, The meanest spirit there, Only let me see thy face, See with thee my happier friend, At an awful distance gaze, Taste the joys that never end. Thou wilt cut short my years, And wipe away my tears: Lo! I wait thy leizure still, Humbly at thy footstool lie, Calm to suffer all thy will, Glad in thee to live and die. 16"A" changed to "the" in 5th edn. (1770) and following. Page 20 Hymn XIII. We know, by faith we know, If this vile house of clay, This tabernacle sink below In ruinous decay, We have a house above Not made with mortal hands, And firm as our Redeemer's love That heav'nly fabrick stands.