For an Unconverted Child

Thou God, that hear'st the whisper'd prayer,
Regard a mournful mother's care
For her poor thoughtless son:
Anxious, distress'd, Thou know'st I live,
And still in secret places grieve
For follies not my own.

Can I my own dear child forget,
Or see without the last regret
His wild disorder'd ways,
His enmity to things Divine,
His league with hell, his feasts with swine,
His total want of grace?

Son of my womb, to evil sold,
Him I with streaming eyes behold
Entirely dead to Thee,
Careless, secure on Tophefs brink,
Ready with all his sins to sink
Into eternity.

But will his desperate madness go
Self-doom'd to everlasting woe,
Content, insensible?
What heart can bear the dreadful thought!
And have I into being brought,
And borne a child for hell!

Forbid it, O most gracious God!
With pity see him in his blood,
For Jesu's sake alone,
Regard my endless griefs and fears,
Nor let the son of all these tears
Be finally undone.

Fulfil at last my heart's desire,
And pluck the brand out of the fire,
And save him by Thy grace;
So shall I manifest Thy name,
With all I have, and all I am,
Devoted to Thy praise.

My son I will to Thee restore,
And anxious for the world no more,
Cast all my care on Thee;
I and my house will serve the Lord,
And wait, obedient to Thy word,
Thy glorious face to see.