John & Charles Wesley · 173 of 258

The Means of Grace

Long have I seem’d to serve Thee, Lord, With unavailing pain; Fasted, and pray’d, and read Thy word, And heard it preach’d, in vain.

Oft did I with the assembly join, And near Thine altar drew; A form of godliness was mine, The power I never knew.

To please Thee thus (at last I see) In vain I hoped and strove: For what are outward things to Thee, Unless they spring from love?

I see the perfect law requires Truth in the inward parts, Our full consent, our whole desires, Our undivided hearts.

But I of means have made my boast, Of means an idol made; The spirit in the letter lost, The substance in the shade.

I rested in the outward law, Nor knew its deep design; The length and breadth I never saw, And height of love Divine.

Where am I now, or what my hope? What can my weakness do? JESU, to Thee my soul looks up, ’Tis Thou must make it new.

Thine is the work, and Thine alone— But shall I idly stand? Shall I the written Rule disown, And slight my God’s command?

Wildly shall I from Thine turn back, A better path to find; Thy holy ordinance forsake, And cast Thy words behind?

Forbid it, gracious Lord, that I Should ever learn Thee so! No—let me with Thy word comply, If I Thy love would know.

Suffice for me, that Thou, my Lord, Hast bid me fast and pray: Thy will be done, Thy name adored; ’Tis only mine to obey.

Thou bidd’st me search the Sacred Leaves, And taste the hallow’d Bread: The kind commands my soul receives, And longs on Thee to feed.

Still for Thy lovingkindness, Lord, I in Thy temple wait; I look to find Thee in Thy word, Or at Thy table meet.

Here, in Thine own appointed ways, I wait to learn Thy will: Silent I stand before Thy face, And hear Thee say, “Be still!”

“Be still—and know that I am God!” ’Tis all I live to know; To feel the virtue of Thy blood, And spread its praise below.

I wait my vigour to renew, Thine image to retrieve, The veil of outward things pass through, And gasp in Thee to live.

I work, and own the labour vain; And thus from works I cease: I strive, and see my fruitless pain, Till God create my peace.

Fruitless, till Thou Thyself impart, Must all my efforts prove: They cannot change a sinful heart, They cannot purchase love.

I do the thing Thy laws enjoin, And then the strife give o’er: To Thee I then the whole resign: I trust in means no more.

I trust in Him who stands between The Father’s wrath and me: JESU! Thou great eternal Mean, I look for all from Thee.

Thy mercy pleads, Thy truth requires, Thy promise calls Thee down! Not for the sake of my desires— But, O! regard Thine own!

I seek no motive out of Thee: Thine own desires fulfil; If now Thy bowels yearn on me, On me perform Thy will.

Doom, if Thou canst, to endless pains, And drive me from Thy face: But if Thy stronger love constrains, Let me be saved by grace.