Sunday, May 14, 2017

Weary of Wandering from My God

“The Chap­lain of Glas­gow pri­son once found a young wo­man eight­een or nine­teen stand­ing in her cell with her hymn-book in her hand. ‘She looked up, and, hold­ing it out, said to me, ‘This is a “hymn which I’m much ta’en up wi’.’
I read the first two lines, and found my eyes fill­ing with tears as I looked at her and said, ‘Are you weary of wan­der­ing from your God?’
“The an­swer was ‘Yes, in­deed I am.’ There­u­pon I had the great pri­vi­lege of deal­ing with an an­xious soul.
“Next Sun­day we not on­ly sang the hymn, but I preached spe­cial­ly to wea­ry wan­der­ers. The fol­low­ing day an old man grasped my hand as I en­tered his cell, and in an ear­nest and sol­emn voice said, ‘When the great day comes there will be found a soul among the re­deemed, brought there through that hymn we sang yes­ter­day, for,’  he con­tin­ued, ‘when you read out, ‘Wea­ry of wan­der­ing from my God,’ I said, ‘That’s me. I’m wea­ry, and I’m rea­dy to re­turn,’ and,” he add­ed, “come back to my God I have.”’

Weary of wandering from my God
Charles Wesley (1749)

Weary of wandering from my God,
And now made willing to return
I hear and bow me to the rod
For thee, not without hope, I mourn:
I have an Advocate above
A Friend before the throne of love.

O Jesus, full of truth and grace
More full of grace than I of sin

Yet once again I seek Thy face:
Open Thine arms and take me in
And freely my backslidings heal
And love the faithless sinner still.

Thou know’st the way to bring me back
My fallen spirit to restore

O for Thy truth and mercy’s sake,
Forgive, and bid me sin no more:
The ruins of my soul repair
And make my heart a house of prayer.

The stone to flesh again convert,
The veil of sin again remove;

Sprinkle Thy blood upon my heart,
And melt it by Thy dying love;
This rebel heart by love subdue,
And make it soft, and make it new.

Give to mine eyes refreshing tears,
And kindle my relentings now;

Fill my whole soul with filial fears,
To Thy sweet yoke my spirit bow;
Bend by Thy grace, O bend or break,
The iron sinew in my neck!

Ah! give me, Lord, the tender heart
That trembles at the approach of sin;

A godly fear of sin impart,
Implant, and root it deep within,
That I may dread Thy gracious power,
And never dare to offend Thee more.

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