English poem
DISCIPLINE. From the same
by John Wesley (1703–1791)
O Throw away thy Rod, O throw away thy Wrath! My Gracious Saviour and my GOD, O take the gentle Path.
Thou feest, my Heart's Desire Still unto Thee is bent: Still does my longing Soul aspire To an entire Consent.
Not ev'n a Word or Look Do I approve or own, But by the Model of thy Book, Thy sacred Book alone.
Altho' I fail, I weep; Altho' I halt in pace, Yet still with trembling Steps I creep Unto the Throne of Grace.
O then let Wrath remove: For Love will do the Deed! Love will the Conquest gain; with Love Ev'n stony Hearts will bleed.
For Love is swift of Foot, Love is a Man of War; Love can resistless Arrows shoot, And hit the Mark from far.
Who can escape his Bow? That which hath wrought on Thee, Which brought the King of Glory low, Must surely work on me.
O throw away thy Rod; What tho' Man Frailties hath? Thou art my Saviour and my GOD! O throw away thy Wrath!