Thy patient in thy hands I lie

Verse 1
Thy patient in thy hands I lie,
All helplesness, all weakness I,
But thy almighty skill
On sinners to the utmost shew’d,
Shall thro’ the virtue of thy blood
My soul compleatly heal.

Verse 2
Thou didst, ascending up on high,
Pour down thy blessings from the sky,
And gifts on men bestow,
Gifts to supply thy people’s wants,
Gifts for the perfecting the saints
In thy great inn below.

Verse 3
Thou bidst the ministerial host
Dispense thy med’cines at thy cost;
And with thy sympathy
My wounds he carefully attends,
Talents, and gifts, and grace expends,
And life itself on me.

Verse 4
Sure from his dear returning Lord
To gain the hundred-fold reward,
The steward of thy grace
Laborious in the strength divine,
Saves his own soul, in saving mine,
And dies to see thy face.

Hymnal/Album: Originally titled: “‘On the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence.'—[Luke 10,] v. 35.” This hymn appears in the 1766 manuscript “MS Luke.” This manuscript is part of the collection of the Methodist Archive and Research Centre in The John Rylands Library, The University of Manchester (accession number MA 1977/575, Charles Wesley Notebooks Box 3). Accessed through the website of The Center for Studies in the Wesleyan Tradition, Duke Divinity School. Published in S.T. Kimbrough Jr. and Oliver A. Beckerlegge, eds., The Unpublished Poetry of Charles Wesley, vol. 2 (Nashville: Kingswood Books, 1990), page 123.
Publishing: Public Domain