Wesley Corpus

Page 24 27Ori., "born"; a misprint, corrected in 2nd edn. (1756) and following. The Cry of a "Reprobate." Go wretched soul to meet thy doom, Thou neither canst escape, nor fly: The day, the fatal day is come, And thou with all thy hopes must die. The dire occasion of my fall Is present to my closest view, Shorn of my strength, I give up all, And bid the world of grace adieu! The Philistines at last have found The way t' afflict their baffled foe, By my own sin betray'd and bound, A sheep I to the slaughter go. I saw my death with stony eye, While I the way of life could find, But would not then from ruin fly, And now my harden'd heart is blind. I cannot from destruction turn, Nor wish it might from me depart, Down the swift stream of nature borne,27 I sin with all my wretchless heart. My greedy soul knows no remorse (While conscience sear'd no longer cries) Impetuous, as the headlong horse Rushes into the fight, and dies. I hasten where the deepest hell Is mov'd to meet me from beneath, Where damn'd apostate spirits yell, And gnaw their tongues, and gnash their teeth.