LIBRA.' OF CONGRESS. 
 
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 UNITED STATES OP AMERICA. 
 
JESUS, 
 LOVER OF MY SOUL. 
 
 CHARLES WESLEY. 
 
 DESIGNS BY ROBERT LEWIS. 
 ENGRAVED BY WM. J. DANA. 
 
 He also will be a refuge. . . .in times of trouble. — Ps. 9:9. ^^ 
 
 BOSTON: 
 D. LOTHROP & CO. 
 
 
 \..v 18-^9. .oV 
 
TIT 
 
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 COPYRIGHT, 
 
 D. LOTHROP & CO., 
 
 1878. 
 
 C. A. HACK AND SON, PRINTERS, 
 TAUNTON, MASS. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Eminent among godly women was Susannah, the 
 mother of John and Charles Wesley. Each of her 
 celebrated sons inherited from her his characteristic 
 gifts. She gave to John the judgment, energy and 
 will which made him the great commander ; to 
 Charles, the feminine tenderness and fervid feeling 
 which made him the sweet psalmist. The most 
 obvious fact in her life was her rare devotion to her 
 children. They repaid her with deep filial tenderness. 
 
 Charles was her youngest son. The others kissed 
 their mother, but Charles clave unto her. Had his 
 affection for her been less, or had she less deserved 
 it, the hymn reprinted in this little book could not 
 have been written. It w^as possible because its 
 author saw interpreted in his mother the care of 
 Christ, and had eyes to read the interpretation. 
 
 It may be that the sight of a dove pursued by a 
 hawk suggested the opening lines. But the origin of 
 the hymn is deeper. Its germ was planted in the 
 cradle ; its roots grew through childhood ] they were 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 watered by dear hands that helped and fond lips that 
 prayed, until when the man had come to see in his 
 Saviour " more than all " the child had experienced 
 in his mother, they bore these leaves of healing and 
 fruit of life. This was the soil which gave the hymn 
 its preciousness to all God's children, and made it 
 what Dr. Cuyler has truthfully named it, the dearest 
 " heart hymn in the English tongue." We love it be- 
 cause it helps us turn to God in our tribulations as 
 we ran to our mothers when we thought they were 
 omnipotent. 
 
 When Mrs. Wesley lay dying she said, " My chil- 
 dren, as soon as my spirit is released, sing a song of 
 praise to God." It was possible for her children to 
 obey her wish, because Charles had already taught 
 them to hear the heart that seemed quieted forever 
 still beating in the bosom of Christ. He has taught 
 us to do the same. And therefore — in spite of a 
 sadness such as might seem ill-befitting the most 
 radiant period of the year — I think this hymn appro- 
 priate for Christmas. For this is the season when 
 most the hearts of the fathers are turned toward the 
 children and the children towards the fathers and 
 family affection is felt to be the only true interpreter 
 of the heart of Christ. 
 
 It is pleasant to remember how others have been 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 sustained by the words we love so well. The illus- 
 trations help us here. Two of them are simply re- 
 cords of facts. One shows us the mother with her 
 child found floating on some fragment of wreck in 
 the English channel by rescuing sailors who paused 
 wdth balanced oar to listen as she sang unconscious 
 of their approach : 
 
 "Jesus, lover of my soul, 
 Let me to thy bosom fly." 
 
 Another tells of the New England drummer found 
 dead in the morning between the union and the rebel 
 battle lines — in the place whence through the night 
 the soldiers of both armies had heard the same sweet 
 song coming to their ears out of the darkness. 
 
 Between the merry sparrows twittering amid spring 
 grasses and the woman kneeling in the winter of her 
 sins are all experiences through which men pass from 
 happiness to agony, from innocence to guilt. But 
 he who watches the sparrows himself unseen, stands 
 visible beside the weeping outcast, and teaches her 
 who has lost all to find in him " more than all.'' 
 
 However deep may be our sorrows, however black 
 our sins, may this hymn help us to see Christ still 
 beside us and to find in him grace, mercy and peace. 
 
 William Burnett Wright. 
 
jESUS, lover of my soul, 
 Let me to thy bosom fly, 
 
 While the nearer waters roll, 
 i While the tempest still is high; 
 
 Hide me, oh, my Saviour, hide, 
 Till the storm of life is past ; 
 
 Safe into the haven guide. 
 Oh, receive my soul at last 
 
have I none, 
 Hangs my helpless 
 on thee ; 
 Leave, oh, leave me not alone, 
 
 Still support and comfort me : 
 All my trust on thee is stayed, 
 
 All my help from thee I bring; 
 Cover my defenseless head 
 With the shadow of thy wing. 
 
.# 
 
 Heal the sick, and lead the blind 
 Just and holy is thy name, 
 
 I am all unrighteousness; 
 Vile and full of sin I am, 
 
 Thou art full of truth and grace 
 
.?«i^-^^ 
 
 )4 
 
 LENTEOUS 
 
 grace with thee is 
 found, 
 Grace to cover all my sin: 
 '^ Let the healing streams 
 abound ; 
 Make me, 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!