Hymn CCIX. Long Metre

Our father, thron'd above the sky, To thee, our empty hands we spread. Thy children, at thy footstool lie, And ask thy blessings on their head.

Let mercy all our sins dispel, As clouds before the solar beam, Our souls from bondage and from hell To liberty and life redeem.

With cheerful hope and filial fear, In that august and precious name, By thee ordain'd, we now draw near, And would the promis'd blessing claim.

Does not an earthly parent hear The cravings of his famish'd son? Will he reject the filial prayer, Or mock him with a cake of stone?

Our heavenly father, how much more Will thy divine compassions rise; And open thy unbounded store To satisfy thy children's cries?

Yes we will ask, and seek and press For gracious audience to thy seat, Still hoping, waiting for success, If persevering to intreat.

For Jesus in his faithful word The patient supplicant has bless'd, And all thy saints with one accord The prevalence of prayer attest.