11 God of my life, look gently down,
Behold the pains I feel;
But I am dumb before thy throne,
Nor dare dispute thy will.
12 Diseases are thy servants, Lord,
They come at thy command;
I’ll not attempt a murm'ring word
Against thy chast'ning hand.
13 Yet I may plead with humble cries,
Remove thy sharp rebukes;
My strength consumes, my spirit dies,
Through thy repeated strokes.
14 Crush'd as a moth beneath thy hand,
We moulder to the dust;
Our feeble pow'rs can ne’er withstand,
And all our beauty’s lost.
15 I’m but a stranger here below,
As all my fathers were;
May I be well prepar'd to go,
When I the summons hear!
16 But if my life be spar'd awhile,
Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my bus'ness still,
And I’ll declare thy love.
|First Line:||God of my life, look gently down|