And let this feeble body fail is a hymn by Charles Wesley, published in 1759 as Hymn 3 in Funeral Hymns (2nd Series), and consisting of 9 Double Common Metre verses.
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And let this feeble body fail,
And let it droop, or die.
My soul shall quit the mournful vale,
And soar to worlds on high:
Shall join the disembodied saints,
And find its long-sought rest,
(That only bliss for which it pants,)
In my Redeemer's breast.
In hope of that immortal crown,
I now the cross sustain.
And gladly wander up and down,
And smile at toil and pain :
I suffer out my threescore years.
Till my Deliverer come,
And wipe away his servant's tears,
And take his exile home.
Surely he will not long delay;
I hear his Spirit cry,
"Arise, my love, make haste away,
Go, get thee up, and die.
O'er death, who now has lost his sting,
I give the victory;
And with me my reward I bring,
I bring my heaven for thee."
Lord, I the welcome word receive,
Thee on the mount adore.
For thy dear sake content to live
Some painful moments more:
I live in holy grief and joy.
On Pisgah's top I stand.
And life's important point employ,
To view the promised land.
O what hath Jesus bought for me!
Before my ravish'd eyes
Rivers of life divine I see,
And trees of paradise:
They flourish in perpetual bloom,
Fruit every month they give;
And to the healing leaves who come,
Eternally shall live.
I see a world of spirits bright,
Who reap the pleasures there;
They all are robed in purest white,
And conquering palms they bear:
Adorn'd by their Redeemer's grace
They close pursue the Lamb,
And every shining front displays
They drink the deifying stream.
They pluck th'ambrosial fruit.
And each records the praise of him
Who tuned his golden lute:
At once they strike th'harmonious wire,
And hymn the great Three-One:
He hears; he smiles: and all the choir
Fall down before his throne.
O what a heaven of heavens is this.
This swoon of silent love!
How poor the world's sublimest bliss
Compared with joys above!
With joys above may I be blest.
And earthly bliss I scorn;
Or sing triumphantly distressed
Till I to God return.
O what are all my sufferings here,
If, Lord, thou count me meet
With that enraptured host t'appear.
And worship at thy feet!
Give joy or grief, give ease or pain,
Take life or friends away,
I come, to find them all again
In that eternal day.
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