On His Birthday, Hymn 23

Jesus, to Thy preserving care
My choicest blessing I commend,
Receive, and in Thy bosom bear
The soul, whom Thou hast made my friend.

My friend! by pitying grace bestow'd
On me, a man of woe and strife,
To lighten my severest load,
And soothe the pain of irksome life.

My former desperate wound to heal,
To draw the dire envenom'd dart,
The sting of injured love expel,
And drive the vipers from my heart.

Thou, Lord, by him, and Thou alone
Hast forced me to let go my pain,
Hast cheer'd Thy long forgotten son,
And turn'd me to my rest again.

Through him Thou hast restored my hope,
(The hope my madness cast away,)
Strangely revived, and stirr'd me up,
And forced my heart again to pray.

And can I the dear soul forget
The choicest instrument Divine,
And not my instant suit repeat
That all his heart may still be Thine.

Must I from him so much receive,
(To Thee ascribing all the praise,)
Yet want the blessedness to give,
To minister Thy heavenly grace?

O that I might his burden bear,
Employ my all to do him good,
My utmost strength, my total care,
My life, my latest drop of blood!

If I may be so greatly bless'd,
Thy blessings to my friend to deal,
This moment breathe into his breast,
And fill him with celestial zeal.

Ten thousand blessings on his head!
Ten thousand goods in one impart,
Thy Spirit with Thy love be shed,
And dwell for ever in his heart.