By The Bedside Of A Sick Child

O Thou by whose eternal plan Ages arise and roll, Who in Thine image madest man To search him to the soul, If e'er in token of the Cross, With infant arms outspread, Thou sawest Thy Beloved toss In anguish on His bed; Or heardest in the childish cry That pierced the cottage room The voice of Christ in agony Breaking from Calvary's gloom, Give ear! and from Thy Throne above With eyes of mercy mild, Look down, of Thine immortal love, Upon our suffering child.

Though Earth's physicians all in vain Have urged their utmost skill, Yet to our prayers O make it plain That Thou canst succour still; Yea! through the midnight watches drear, And all the weary day, O be Thy Good Physician near Our stricken one to stay; That evermore as we succeed In service at his side, Each office of our darling's need His heavenly hands may guide; Till o'er his tempest bed of pain, His cry of perishing thrill The Saviour's arm go forth again, The Saviour's "Peace! be still."

Too well, O Lord, too well we know How oft upon Thy way Our feet have followed faint and slow, How often turned astray For fleeting pleasures to forsake Thy path of heavenly prayer; We have deserved that Thou shouldst take Our children from our care. Yet, O Good Shepherd, lead us back, Our lamb upon Thy breast, Safely along the narrow track, Across the dangerous crest; Until our aching eyes rejoice At Salem's shining walls, And to our thirsting souls a Voice Of Living Waters calls.