English poem
The THANKSGIVING. From the same
by John Wesley (1703–1791)
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 Conq'ror 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 Musick find: each String Shall have his Attribute to Sing; And ev'ry Note accord in Thee, To prove one GOD, one Harmony.
Giv'st Thou me Knowledge? It shall still Search out thy Ways, thy Works, they 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!