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.