1 O thou, before whose gracious throne
We bow our suppliant spirits down,
Thou know'st 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,
Condemn'd on this dark desert coast
To mourn our much-lov'd leader lost;
5 Be thou his strength, be thou his stay,
Support him through the gloomy way;
Comfort his soul, surround his bed,
And guide him through the dreary shade.
6 Around him may thy angels wait,
Deck'd with their robes of heavenly state,
To teach his happy soul to rise,
And waft him to his native skies.
Text Information | |
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First Line: | O thou, before whose gracious throne |
Meter: | L. M. |
Publication Date: | 1828 |
Topic: | Kingdom and Church of Christ: Sickness of their Minister; On the dangerous Illness of a Minister |