John & Charles Wesley · 22 of 258

The Thanksgiving

From the same.

O King of grief! (how strange and true The name, to Jesus only due!) How, Saviour, shall I grieve for Thee? Who in all griefs preventest me.

Then let me vie with Thee in love, And try who there shall conqueror prove. Giv’st Thou me wealth? I will restore All back unto Thee by the poor.

Giv’st Thou me honour? All shall see The honour doth belong to Thee: A bosom-friend? If false he prove To Thee, I will tear thence his love.

Thee shall my music find: each string Shall have his attribute to sing; And every note accord in Thee, To prove one God, one harmony.

Giv’st Thou me knowledge? It shall still Search out Thy ways, Thy works, Thy will: Yea, I will search Thy Book, nor move Till I have found therein Thy love.

Thy love I will turn back on Thee O my dear Saviour, victory! Then for Thy passion, I for that Will do—alas, I know not what!