JAMES THOMSON Whose eyes have wept o'er every friend laid low, Dragg'd lingering on from partial death to death, Till, dying, all he can resign is breath.
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��CHARLES WESLEY
459 Wrestling Jacob
1OME, O Thou Traveller unknown, Whom still I hold, but cannot see, My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with Thee. With Thee all night I mean to stay, And wrestle till the break of day. I need not tell Thee who I am,
My misery, or sin declare, Thyself hast calPd me by my name,
Look on thy hands, and read it there, But who, I ask Thee, who art Thou? Tell me thy name, and tell me now. In vain Thou strugglest to get free,
I never will unloose my hold: Art Thou the Man that died for me?
The secret of thy love unfold; Wrestling I will not let Thee go, Till I thy name, thy nature know. 'Tis all in vain to hold thy tongue,
Or touch the hollow of my thigh: Though every sinew be unstrung,
Out of my arms Thou shalt not fly; Wrestling I will not let Thee go, Till I thy name, thy nature know.
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