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Thyself hast called me by my name;

Look on thy 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 untold.
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: Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, Till I thy Name, thy nature know. 'Tis all in vain to hold thy tongue,

Or touch the hollow of my thigh;
Though every sinew be unstrung,

Out of my arms Thou shalt not fly:
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 am I strong:
And when my all of strength shall fail,
I shall with the God-Man prevail.
My strength is gone; my nature dies;

I sink beneath thy weighty hand ;
Faint to revive, and fall to rise ;

I fall, and yet by faith I stand:
I stand, and will not let Thee go,
Till I thy Name, thy nature know.





Yield to me now, for I am weak,

But confident in self-despair ;
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak,

Be conquered by my instant prayer !
Speak, or Thou never hence shall move,
And tell me, if thy Name be 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;
Withered 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 !

Charles Wesley.




O blithe new-comer! I have heard,
I hear thee and rejoice :
O Cuckoo ! shall I call thee bird,
Or but a wandering Voice ?


While I am lying on the grass,
Thy twofold shout I hear ;
From hill to hill it seems to pass,
At once far off and near.


Though babbling only to the vale
Of sunshine and of flowers,
Thou bringest unto me a tale
Of visionary hours.


Thrice welcome, darling of the Spring !
Even yet thou art to me
No bird, but an invisible thing,
A voice, a mystery ;
The same whom in my school-boy days
I listened to ; that Cry
Which made me look a thousand ways
In bush, and tree, and sky.
To seek thee did I often rove
Through woods and on the green ;
And thou wert still a hope, a love ;
Still longed for, never seen!



And I can listen to thee yet ;
Can lie upon the plain
And listen, till I do beget
That golden time again.
O blessèd bird ! the earth we pace
Again appears to be
An unsubstantial, fairy place
That is fit home for thee!

William Wordsworth.





Triumphal arch that fill'st the sky,
When storms prepare to part,
I ask not proud Philosophy
To teach me what thou art.
Still seem, as to my childhood's sight,
A mid-way station given
For happy spirits to alight,
Betwixt the earth and heaven.
Can all that optics teach, unfold
Thy form to please me so,
As when I dreamed of gems and gold
Hid in thy radiant bow ?
When Science from Creation's face
Enchantment's veil withdraws,
What lovely visions yield their place
To cold material laws !



And yet, fair bow, no fabling dreams,
But words of the Most High,
Have told why first thy robe of beams
Was woven in the sky,


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