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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.

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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?

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'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 !

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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.

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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 !

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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.

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Contented now upon my thigh

I halt, till life's short journey end;

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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.

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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.

PART THE FOURTH.

CLXX

TO THE CUCKOO.

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

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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.

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

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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!

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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.

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CLXXI

THE RAINBOW.

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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 !

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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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