Charles Wesley

* * *

Dear dying Lamb, for whom alone
We suffer pain, and shame, and loss,
Hear Thine afflicted people groan,
Crushed by the burden of Thy cross,
And bear our fainting spirits up,
And bless the bitter, sacred cup.

Drunkards, and slaves of lewd excess,
Bad, lawless men, Thou knowst, we lived:
The world, and we were then at peace,
No devil his own servants grieved;
Evil we did, but suffered none:
The world will always love its own.

But now we would Thy Word obey,
And strive to escape the wrath divine,
Exposed to all, a helpless prey,
Bruised by our enemies, and Thine,
As sheep midst ravening wolves we lie,
And daily grieve, and daily die.

Smitten, we turn the other cheek,
Our ease, and name, and goods forego,
Help, or redress no longer seek
In any child of man below;
The powers Thou didst for us ordain,
For us they bear the sword in vain.

But wilt Thou not at last appear,
Into Thine hand the matter take?
We look for no protection here,
But Thee our only refuge make,
To Thee, O righteous Judge, appeal,
And wait Thy just and perfect will.

Thou wilt not shut Thy bowels up,
Or justice to the oppressed deny;
Thy mercy’s ears Thou cannot stop,
Against the mournful prisoners’ cry,
Who ever make our humble moan,
And look for help to Thee alone.

Then help us meekly to sustain
The cross of man’s oppressive power,
To slight the shame, endure the pain,
And calmly wait the welcome hour,
That brings the fiery chariot down,
And whirls us to our heav’nly crown.