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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.  The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes.  1917.
 
Father, I Stretch My Hands to Thee
By Charles Wesley (1707–1788)
 
FATHER, I stretch my hands to thee;
  No other help I know:
If thou withdraw thyself from me,
  Ah! whither shall I go?
 
What did thine only Son endure,        5
  Before I drew my breath!
What pain, what labor, to secure
  My soul from endless death!
 
O Jesus, could I this believe,
  I now should feel thy power;        10
And all my wants thou wouldst relieve,
  In this accepted hour.
 
Author of faith! to thee I lift
  My weary, longing eyes;
O let me now receive that gift:        15
  My soul without it dies.
 
Surely thou canst not let me die:
  O speak, and I shall live;
And here I will unwearied lie,
  Till thou thy Spirit give.        20
 
How would my fainting soul rejoice
  Could I but see thy face!
Now let me hear thy quickening voice,
  And taste thy pardoning grace.
 
 
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