Hymn CCIV. Long Metre. On the Dangerous Sickness of a Minister

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.

Thou only canst assuage our grief, And give our sorrowing hearts relief. In mercy then, thy servant spare, Nor turn aside thy people's prayer.

Avert thy desolating stroke, Nor smite the shepherd of the flock; Restore him, sinking to the grave, Stretch out thine arm, make haste to save.

Bound to each soul by tender ties, In every heart his image lies; Thy pitying aid, O God, impart, Nor rend him from each bleeding heart.

But if our supplications fail, And prayers and tears cannot prevail! Be thou his strength, be thou his stay, Support him thro' the gloomy way.

Around him may thy angels stand, Waiting the signal of thy hand; To bid his happy spirit rise And bear him to their native skies.