« ÖncekiDevam »
Ye Gentile sinners, ne'er forget
The wormwood and the gall ;
And crown Him Lord of all.
Let every kindred, every tribe,
On this terrestrial ball,
And crown Him Lord of all,
Oh that with yonder sacred throng
We at His feet may fall,
And crown Him Lord of all !
To the organising faculty and amazing activity of John Wesley, there was provided a remarkable antithesis or supplement in the poetic fire of his brother Charles; and to the society so wonderfully brought together by the practical energy of the one, there was supplied an element of continual inspiration by the genius and fervour of the other. Keeping higher influences out of sight, the Wesleyan Hymn-book is to the Wesleyan Connexion very much what the soul is to the body; and although John Wesley himself and many others contributed, the collection owes its distinctive charm to that triumphant spirit who poured forth the “good matter” of the gospel in strains which often remind us of the harp of Pindar.
“ Those hymns are sung now in collieries and copper mines. How many has their heavenly music strengthened to meet death in the dark coal-pit; on how many dying hearts have they come back, as from a mother's lips, on the battle-field ; beside how many death-beds have they been chanted by trembling voices, and listened to with joy unspeakable; how many have they supplied with prayer and praise, from the first thrill
of spiritual fear to the last rapture of heavenly hope! They echo along the Cornish moors, as the corpse of the Christian miner is borne to his last resting-place; they cheer with heavenly messages the hard bondage of slavery; they have been the first words of thanksgiving on the lips of the liberated negro; they have given courage to brave men, and patience to suffering women ; they have been a liturgy engraven on the hearts of the poor; they have borne the name of Jesus far and wide, and have helped to write it deep on countless hearts. And England is no more without a people's hymn-book."*
CHARLES WESLEY was born at Epworth, December 18, 1708, and died at London, March 29, 1788.
The Day of Judgment.
Jehovah's will be done!
And hear her final groan:
In death the wicked and the just;
And grind us into dust.
At his Redeemer's beck,
And mount above the wreck ;
Like flame, o'er nature's funeral pyre,
And claps his wings of fire !
By worlds on worlds destroy'd; “The Voice of Christian Life in Song,” by the Author of “ Tales and Sketches of Christian Life.” (P. 264.) A volume of exquisite taste and delightful instruction,
Far beneath his feet he views,
With smiles, the flaming void: Sees the universe renew'd,
The grand millennial reign begun; Shouts, with all the sons of God,
Around the eternal throne! Resting in this glorions hope
To be at last restored, Yield we now our bodies up
To earthquake, plague, or sword: Listening for the call divine,
The latest trumpet of the seven,
And both fly up to licaven.
Come, O thou Traveller unknown,
Whom still I hold, but cannot see !
And I am left alone with Thee :
My misery and sin declare ;
Look on my hands, and read it there:
I never will unloose my hold !
The secret of Thy love unfold:
Thy new, unutterable Name ? Tell me, I still beseech Thee, tell :
To know it now, resolved I am:
Wither'd my nature's strength, from thee
My soul its life and succour brings ;
Contented now upon my thigh
I halt, till life's short journey end ;
On Thee alone for strength depend ;
Lame as I am, I take the prey ;
Hell, earth, and sin with ease o'ercome ;
And as a bounding hart fly home;
For the New Year.
Come, let us anew
Roll round with the year,
His adorable will
And our talents improve,
Our life is a dream ;
Gildes swiftly away ;
The arrow is flown;
The millennial year