C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
And Have I Measured Half My Days
By Charles Wesley (1707–1788)
A
And half my journey run,
Nor tasted the Redeemer’s grace,
Nor yet my work begun?
The noon is almost o’er;
The night of death approaches fast,
When I can work no more.
Have I lived out in vain!
How fruitless all my toils and tears!
I am not born again.
And all a painful void,
For still I am not saved from sin,
For still I know not God.
Thick clouds surround his throne;
Nor can I yet behold his face,
Or find the God unknown.
Far off from mortal sight,
An inaccessible abyss
Of uncreated light.
He fills both earth and heaven;
But doth not to my soul appear—
My soul from Eden driven.
But cannot feel him nigh:
Where is the pardoning God of Love,
Who stooped for me to die?
With unavailing care:
Long did I in the desert dwell,
Nor could I find him there.
I seek him far and near:
Where’er I come, constrained to cry,
“My Savior is not here.”
Yet oh, how dark and void
To me! ’tis one great wilderness,
This earth without my God.
Till he his light impart,
Till he his glorious Self reveals,
The veil is on my heart.
Thyself unseen, unknown,
Pity my helpless unbelief,
And take away the stone!
The long-sought blessing give;
And bid me, at the point to die,
Behold thy face and live.
Thy promised help implore:
Oh, that I now my Lord might meet,
And never lose him more!
Shed in my heart abroad;
The middle wall of sin remove,
And let me in to God!