Wesley Corpus

A Collection of Hymns (1780)

AuthorCharles Wesley
Typehymn-collection
Year1780
Passage IDcw-hymns-1780-346
Words396
Sourcehttps://www.ccel.org/ccel/wesley/hymn.html
Christology
4 Then let the worms demand their prey, The greedy grave my reins consume ; With joy I drop my mouldering clay, And rest till my Redeemer come ; On Christ my life, in death rely, Secure that I can never die. HYMN 719. Ts §• 6's. r TVhy should it he thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead?" A /TAY not a creating God, It A Who built this house of clay, Re-inspire the breathless clod, In his appointed day? From the dust He form'd us man, And shall we circumscribe his power? Doubtless the Almighty can Our moulder'd dust restore. 2 He who breathed into our earth The breath of life divine, By a new celestial birth Can God and sinners join ; 650 Time, Death, and Will a quickening Spirit become, Our souls extinct again to raise, CalPd out of our nature's tomb, To live tbe life of grace. 3 Dead in sins and trespasses, Jesus his people saves : Lord, by faith we thee confess, The op'ner of our graves ; Joyfully the pledge receive. Of blissful immortality, Sure our bodies too shall live For ever one with thee. HYMN 720. c. m. " And devout men carried Stephen to his burial. 1 \1I7*HY do we mourn departing friends, * * Or shake at death's alarms ? 'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends, To call them to his arms. 2 The graves of all his saints he bless'd, And soften'd every bed : Where should the dying members rest, But with their dying Head? .'> Thence he arose, ascending high, And show'd our feet the way : Up to the Lord our flesh shall fly, At the great rising-day. 4 Then let the last loud trumpet sound, And bid our kindred rise ; Awake, ye nations under ground ; Ye saints, ascend the skies. HYMN 721. s. m. Triumph over Death. 1 \ ND must this body die ? -^* This well-wrought frame decay ? the future State. 651 And must these active limbs of mine Lie mouldering in the clay ? 2 Corruption, earth, and worms Shall but refine this flesh ; Till my triumphant spirit comes To put it on afresh. 3 God, my Redeemer, lives, And ever from the skies Looks down, and watches all my dust, Till he shall bid it rise.