1 Oh Thou, before whose gracious throne
We bow our suppliant spirits down,
Thou knowest the anxious cares we feel,
And all our trembling lips would tell.
2 Avert Thy swift descending stroke,
Nor smite the shepherd of the flock,
Lest o'er the barren waste we stray,
To prowling wolves an easy prey.
3 Restore him, sinking to the grave,
Stretch out Thine arm, make haste to save;
Back to our hope and wishes give,
And bid our friend and father live.
4 Yet, if our supplications fail,
And prayers and tears can naught prevail,
Condemned on this dark desert coast
To mourn our much-loved leader lost;
5 Be Thou his strength, be Thou his stay,
Support him through the untried way;
Comfort his soul, surround his bed,
And guide him through the dreary shade.
6 Around him may Thy angels wait,
Decked with their robes of heavenly state,
To teach his happy soul to rise,
And waft him to his native skies.
Source: The Book of Worship #152