Scripture Verse

Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation: the spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak. Matthew 26:41

Introduction

portrait
Charles Wesley (1707–1788)

Words: Charles Wes­ley, Hymns and Sac­red Po­ems (Bris­tol, Eng­land: Fe­lix Far­ley, 1739), Vol­ume 2, num­ber 84, pag­es 126–27.

Music: El­la­combe, Ge­sang­buch der herz­ogl. Wir­tem­berg­isch­en ka­tho­lisch­en Hof­ka­pel­le (Würt­tem­berg, Ger­ma­ny: 1784). Adapt­ed & har­mo­nized by Will­iam H. Monk in the 1868 ap­pendix to Hymns An­cient and Mo­dern, num­ber 366 (🔊 pdf nwc).

portrait
William Monk (1823–1889)

Charles Wes­ley had ma­ny proofs of the truth­ful­ness of the [se­cond] verse of this hymn. Amongst the num­er­ous in­stanc­es of his es­cape from the hands of rob­bers and bru­tal per­se­cut­ors, he men­tions the fol­lowing:

I set out for Lon­don. In a mile’s rid­ing my horse fell lame. I sung the 91st Psalm and put my­self un­der di­vine pro­tect­ion. I had scarce end­ed, and turned the hut on Shot­ov­er hill, when a man came up to me, and de­mand­ed my mo­ney, show­ing, but not pre­sent­ing a pis­tol. I gave him my purse. He asked how much there was.

About thir­ty shill­ings.

Have you no more?

I will see, put my hand in my pock­et, and gave him some half­pence.

He re­peat­ed the ques­tion, Have you any more?

I had thi­rty pounds in a pri­vate pock­et; bade him search my­self; which he did not choose.

He or­dered me to dis­mount, which I did; but begged hard for my horse again, prom­is­ing not to pur­sue him. He took my word and re­stored him. I rode gent­ly on prais­ing God. My bags, and watch, and gold, the rob­ber was forced to leave me. By the ev­en­ing I reached West­min­ster.

Ward, p. 114–15

Lyrics

Jesus, my Mas­ter, and my Lord,
I would thy will ob­ey,
Humbly re­ceive Thy warn­ing word,
And al­ways watch and pray.
My con­stant need of watch­ful pray­er
I dai­ly see, and feel,
To keep me safe from ev­ery snare
Of sin, and earth, and hell.

Into a world of ruf­fi­ans sent,
I walk on hos­tile ground,
Wild hu­man beasts, on slaugh­ter bent,
And ra­ven­ing wolves sur­round.
The li­on seeks my soul to slay,
In some un­guard­ed hour,
And waits to tear his sleep­ing prey,
And watches to de­vour.

But worse than all my foes, I find
The ene­my with­in,
The ev­il heart, the car­nal mind,
My own in­si­di­ous sin:
My na­ture ev­ery mo­ment waits
To ren­der me se­cure,
And all my paths with ease be­sets,
To make my ru­in sure.

But Thou hast gi­ven a loud alarm,
And thou shalt still pre­pare
My soul for all as­saults, and arm
With ne­ver ceas­ing pray­er.
Thou wilt not suf­fer me to sleep,
Who on Thy love de­pend,
But still Thy faith­ful ser­vant keep,
And save me to the end.