1 God of my life, look gently down,
Behold the pains I feel;
But I am dumb before thy throne,
Nor dare dispute thy will.
2 Diseases are thy servants, Lord,
They come at thy command;
I'll not attempt a murm'ring word
Against thy chast'ning hand.
3 Yet I may plead with humble cries,
Remove thy sharp rebukes:
My strength consumes, my spirit dies,
Through thy repeated strokes.
4 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.
5 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!
6 But if my life be spar'd a while
Before my last remove,
Thy praise shall be my bus'ness still,
And I'll declare thy love.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | God of my life, look gently down |
Title: | Sick-bed devotion; or, Pleading without repining |
Meter: | Common Metre |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1791 |
Scripture: |