365
S. M.
Yielding.
And can I yet delay
My little all to give?
To tear my soul from earth away
For Jesus to receive?
2 Nay, but I yield, I yield;
I can hold out no more;
I sink, by dying love compelled,
And own thee conqueror.
3 Though late, I all forsake;
My friends, my all, resign;
Gracious Redeemer! take, O take,
And seal me ever thine.
4 Come, and possess me whole,
Nor hence again remove;
Settle and fix my wavering soul
With all thy weight of love.
5 My one desire be this,
Thy only love to know;
To seek and taste no other bliss,
No other good below.
C. Wesley.