Wesley Corpus

Rest, happy saint, with God secure, Lodg'd in the bosom of the Lamb, Thy joy is full, thy state is sure, Thro' all eternity the same; The heavenly doors have shut thee in, The mighty gulph is fixt between. Thy God forbad the son to bear The father's wickedness below: And O! Thou canst not suffer there His foul reproach, his guilty woe, His fearful doom thou canst not feel, Or fall, like him, from heaven to hell. That tender sense of infant grace, (Extinct in him) which dwelt in thee, Nor sin, nor Satan, can efface: From pain and grief for ever free, Thou canst not now his fall deplore, Or pray for one that prays no more. Yet may thy last expiring prayer For a lost parent's soul prevail, And move the God of love to spare, T' arrest him at the mouth of hell: O God of love, thine ear incline, And save a soul that once was thine. Thou didst his heaven-born spirit draw, Thou didst his childlike heart inspire, And fill with love's profoundest awe; Tho' now inflam'd with hellish fire, He dares thy fav'rite Son blaspheme, And hates the God that died for him. Page 21 Commissioned by the dying God, Blest with a powerful ministry, The world he pointed to thy blood, And turn'd whole multitudes to thee; Others he sav'd, himself a prey To hell, an hopeless castaway. Murtherer of souls, thou knowest, he lives, (Poor souls for whom thyself hast died) His dreadful punishment receives, And bears the mark of sullen pride; And furious lusts his bosom tear, And the dire worm of sad despair. Condemn'd like haggard Cain to rove, By Satan and himself pursued, Apostate from redeeming love, Abandon'd to the curse of God; Thou hear'st the vagabond complain, Loud-howling, while he bites his chain. But O! Thou righteous God how long Shall thy vindictive anger last, Canst thou not yet forgive the wrong, Bid all his penal woes be past? All power, all mercy as thou art, O break his adamantine heart. Before the yawning cavern close Its mouth on its devoted prey, Thou, who hast died to save thy foes, Thy death's omnipotence display; And snatch from that eternal fire, And let him in thine arms expire. Page 22 Hymn XII. On the Death of Miss M. L n.18