Much has already been written about Charles Wesley, the great Methodist poet.  He was the eighteenth child of the Rev. Samuel Wesley, rector of Epworth, Lincolnshire.  He was born prematurely December 18, 1708, his life destined to be greatly prolonged for the good of men and the glory of God.  His life hung in the balance for weeks and when his eyes finally opened, “the babe wept.”   A feeble infancy was followed by a healthy, vigorous boyhood.

Charles received his early education at Westminster School, where he is said to have been a clever but rather careless pupil.  In 1726, he joined his brother John at Oxford, and there, as is well known, both brothers were brought under deep religious convictions, and after a long period of spiritual doubts and conflicts were led to find true “joy and peace in believing.”  From that time to the close of their long pilgrimage, both were wholly devoted to the work of proclaiming salvation through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, to all whom their influence could reach.  That influence, from the very first, was of no ordinary power; and the Wesleys along with their celebrated friend George Whitefield, became the great instruments of God’s providence for the blessed revival of religion in England during the eighteenth century.

Charles Wesley is so much looked upon as “the poet of  Methodism,” and associated with his own hymns, that perhaps many readers are hardly aware how complete he shared the work of his brother John, being truly “a fellow soldier” and “companion in tribulation” as well as in success, while the two were engaged in those itinerant labours of which the record, read in our days, seems so astonishing.  Notwithstanding Charles’s health being often delicate, for ten years he had no home, except the lodgings provided by attached friends or hospitable strangers from day to day during his varied wanderings.  In 1749, Charles married Miss Sarah Gwynne, a young Welsh lady, to whom he had become attached during his preaching tours in Wales.  The marriage proved a happy one,–very different to this respect from that of his brother John.  For seven years afterwards he continued his itinerant journeys, his wife frequently accompanying him.  In later life his preaching was chiefly confined to London and Bristol; and his biographer, Mr. Jackson, considers that this comparative retirement had an unfavourable effect upon himself, leaving too much leisure for anxious fears and forebodings in regard to the future of Methodism, or for dwelling upon the variations of his own spiritual experience.

The two Wesley brothers were most deeply attached to each other, and though differing in natural temperament, were, on the most important subjects, in general quite agreed.  Charles is described as “above almost every other man, the child of feeling,” and thus subject to the mental trials appointed for almost every over-sensitive spirit.  Besides, his life was one of frequent bodily suffering and weakness; he had to mourn the early loss of five children; and his son Samuel joining the Church of Rome was felt as a dreadful affliction in his declining years.  Yet these varied trials were doutless blessed to make him, in no ordinary degree, “a son of  consolation,” able to help and cheer and soothe many a fellow-pilgrim in seasons of darkness and sorrow.

But it is chiefly as a Christian poet that the memory of Charles Wesley will be ever dear and precious to the Church of Christ.  He may be said to have lived in an atmosphere of sacred song.  At home or on journeys, in times of evil or of good report, in joy or sorrow, health or sickness, “his harp was always in tune,” and his thoughts seemed naturally to flow in verse, suitable to the circumstances of the present hour.  He carried pencil and cards along with him when riding, and would often make the pony halt, while he noted down in shorthand the verses newly composed. Or, returning to his London home, he would call for “pen and ink!  pen and ink!” before speaking to his family.  During his lifetime he published, in sixty-one different books, several thousand hymns, and left as many in manuscript.

It is impossible to consider this extraordinary fluency of versification compatible with the  highest order of poetical genius,–and certainly the majority of Wesley’s hymns are remarkable rather for their power of expressing spiritiual truth or experience than for great poetical talent.  Yet many might be quoted as really fine compositions.

The hymn illustrated in this little volume, “Jesus, Lover of my Soul,” is one of those found in every collection, and dear to every Christian heart.  It was first published in 1740, and headed “In temptation.”  A great American preacher says, “This hymn willl go on singing until the last trump calls forth the angel choir, and then I think it will mount up upon some lip to the very presence  of God.”

Charles Wesley died in 1788, “an old man and full of years.”  He departed in perfect peace to enter the long “desired haven;” and surely, when this aged pilgrim crossed the river, “all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.”   H.L.L.

                                            JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL.

Jesus, lover of my soul,                               All my trust on Thee is stayed,
Let me to Thy bosom fly,                             All my help from Thee I bring:
While the nearer waters roll,                      Cover my defenseless head
While the tempest still is high!                    With the shadow of Thy wing!

Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,                      Thou, O Christ, art all I want;
‘Till the storm of life is past:                        More than all in Thee I find:
Safe into the haven guide;                          Raise the fallen, cheer the faint,
O receive my soul at last!                            Heal the sick, and lead the blind!

Other refuge have I none;                          Just and holy is Thy name:
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee!                I am all unrighteousness:
Leave, ah!  leave me not alone;                  False and full of sin I am;
Still support and comfort me!                      Thou art full of truth and grace.

                                        Plenteous grace with Thee is found,
                                        Grace to cover all my sin:
                                        Let the healing streams abound;
                                        Make and keep me pure within!

                                        Thou of life the fountain art,
                                        Freely let me take of Thee;
                                        Spring Thou up within my heart,
                                        Rise to all eternity!

JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL
Charles Wesley