If his life a snare would prove, If his life would matter raise For the purpose of soothing the feelings of his bereaved wife, still enfeebled by disease, and of rendering the loss of their son subservient to her spiritual benefit, Mr. Charles Wesley wrote the following hymn, which he entitled, "A mother's act of resignation on the death of a child: " Peace, my heart, be calm, be still, Calls for his beloved child; Who on me himself bestow'd Claims the purchase of his blood. Child of prayer, by grace divine Through his last convulsive throes Born into the world above, Glorious world of light and love. Through the purple fountain brought, Lord, for this alone I stay, Then thou wilt receive thy bride To the souls beatified; Then with all thy saints I meet, But Mr. Charles Wesley's most remarkable poetical composition, written upon this mournful and joyous occasion, was a hymn in eight parts, containing fifty-one stanzas, of six lines each, in which he gives full vent to his own deep and irrepressible feelings. It forms a perfect con trast to the calm and soothing verses which he put into the mouth of his sorrowing and enfeebled wife. Here the poet, the father, the husband, the man of God, are seen to the greatest advantage. He begins in the language of passionate regret; he offers thanksgivings to God for the mother's preservation; he celebrates the child's escape from all the toils, the sorrows, the perils of life, and his admission into the company of the heavenly harpers; and in all the confidence and joy of hope, he anticipates his own glorification, and that of the mother, with their sainted child; praying, at the same time, for a sanctified use of the bereavement. The infant was gone; and the parents now take God alone for their portion. The following specimens are given. Who can read the touching lines without tears? Who can see the secrets of a generous and sanctified nature disclosed, without admiration and love? His few sad days of guiltless pain My heart's desire, my darling son, And shall I for his bliss repine? My prayers are seal'd, my child is fled, No longer I his dangers dread, The poisonous world's bewitching power, The charms of sin, the tempter's art, The fondness of a parent's heart. No more my eyes with tears o'erflow, Nor let the man his God deny ; "Tis finish'd! all his course of pain! "Tis finish'd! all our task of care! We turn us to our rest again, In solemn praise, and humble prayer: For lo! our awful office ends; For lo! our sacred charge ascends! The child of whom we seem bereaved, Our heavenly Father hath received, Father, we make thy deed our own, |