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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 glorious 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,
Soon our soul and dust shall join,
And both fly up to heaven.

Wrestling Jacob.

Come, O thou Traveller unknown,
Whom still I hold, but cannot see!
My company before is gone,

And I am left alone with Thee:
With Thee all night I mean to stay,
And wrestle till the break of day.

I need not tell Thee who I am,
My misery and sin declare;
Thyself hast call'd me by my name,

Look on my hands, and read it there: But who, I ask Thee, who art Thou? Tell me Thy name, and tell me now.

In vain Thou strugglest to get free,
I never will unloose my hold!
Art Thou the Man that died for me?
The secret of Thy love unfold:
Wrestling, I will not let Thee go,
Till I Thy Name, Thy Nature know.

Wilt Thou not yet to me reveal
Thy new, unutterable Name?
Tell me, I still beseech Thee, tell:

To know it now, resolved I am :

CHARLES WESLEY.

Wrestling, I will not let Thee go,

Till I Thy Name, Thy Nature know.

What though my shrinking flesh complain,
And murmur to contend so long?

I rise superior to my pain:

When I am weak, then I am strong!
And when my all of strength shall fail,
I shall with the God-Man prevail.

VOL. IV.

PART II.

Yield to me now, for I am weak;
But confident in self-despair:
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak:
Be conquer'd by my instant prayer:
Speak, or Thou never hence shalt move,
And tell me if Thy Name is Love.

'Tis Love! 'tis Love! Thou diedst for me
I hear Thy whisper in my heart!
The morning breaks, the shadows flee,
Pure, universal Love Thou art:
To me, to all, Thy bowels move,

Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love.

My prayer hath power with God: the grace
Unspeakable I now receive;

Through faith I see Thee face to face.

I see Thee face to face, and live!
In vain I have not wept and strove;
Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love.

I know thee, Saviour, who Thou art,
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend;
Nor wilt Thou with the night depart,
But stay and love me to the end;
Thy mercies never shall remove;
Thy Nature and thy Name is Love.

The Sun of Righteousness on me
Hath rose, with healing in His wings:
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Wither'd my nature's strength, from thee
My soul its life and succour brings;
My help is all laid up above;
Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love.

Contented now upon my thigh

I halt, till life's short journey end;
All helplessness, all weakness, I

On Thee alone for strength depend;
Nor have I power from Thee to move;
Thy Nature and thy Name is Love.

Lame as I am, I take the prey;

Hell, earth, and sin with ease o'ercome;

I leap for joy, pursue my way,

And as a bounding hart fly home;

Through all eternity to prove

Thy Nature and thy Name is Love.

For the New Year.

Come, let us anew

Our journey pursue,

Roll round with the year,

And never stand still till the Master appear.

His adorable will

Let us gladly fulfil,

And our talents improve,

By the patience of hope, and the labour to love.

Our life is a dream;

Our time, as a stream,

Gildes swiftly away;

And the fugitive moment refuses to stay.

The arrow is flown;

The moment is gone;

The millennial year

Rushes on to our view, and eternity's here.

CHARLES WESLEY.

O that each in the day

Of His coming may say,

"I have fought my way through;

I have finish'd the work Thou didst give me to do."

O that each from his Lord
May receive the glad word,
"Well and faithfully done;

Enter into my joy, and sit down on my throne."

Gone Home.

Rejoice for a brother deceased,
Our loss is his infinite gain;
A soul out of prison released,
And free from its bodily chain;
With songs let us follow his flight,

And mount with his spirit above,
Escaped to the mansions of light,

And lodged in the Eden of love.

Our brother the haven hath gain'd
Out-flying the tempest and wind;
His rest he hath sooner obtain'd,
And left his companions behind,
Still toss'd on a sea of distress,
Hard toiling to make the blest shore,
Where all is assurance and peace,
And sorrow and sin are no more.

There all the ship's company meet,
Who sail'd with the Saviour beneath;
With shouting each other they greet,
And triumph o'er trouble and death;
The voyage of life's at an end,

The mortal affliction is past;
The age that in heaven they spend,
For ever and ever shall last.

411

THOMAS OLIVERS.

Although converted by the preaching of Whitefield, this fervid Welshman attached himself to the cause and the connexion of Mr Wesley, and for some time aided him in editing the "Arminian Magazine," and his dust now rests in Mr Wesley's tomb, behind the chapel in City Road. He was born at Tregonan, Montgomeryshire, in 1725, and died in March 1799.*

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"Creamer's Methodist Hymnology:" New York, 1848. "Gadsby's

Hymn Writers."

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