Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring!

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fy!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?

Philip Doddridge (1702-1751)

Y

Sursum

E golden lamps of Heaven, farewell,
With all your feeble light:

Farewell, thou ever-changing moon,

Pale empress of the night.

And thou, refulgent orb of day,
In brighter flames array'd;

My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere,

No more demands thine aid.

Ye stars are but the shining dust
Of my Divine abode,

The pavement of those heavenly courts
Where I shall reign with God.

The Father of eternal light
Shall there His beams display:

Nor shall one moment's darkness mix
With that unvaried day.

No more the drops of piercing grief
Shall swell into mine eyes;
Nor the meridian sun decline
Amidst those brighter skies.

John Wesley (1703-1791)

My Story

ND can it be, that I should gain

A

An interest in the Saviour's blood?

Died He for me, who caus'd His pain, For me, who Him to death pursued? Amazing Love! how can it be, That Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?

'Tis mystery all! Th' Immortal dies! Who can explore His strange design?