For a Sick Child

So foolish, ignorant, and blind
To that Thy wisdom hath design'd,
What shall I to my Father say,
Or how for a sick infant pray?
With pain he doth his life begin,
Who never copied Adam's sin,
Yet, innocent, in plaintive groans
The' original offence he owns.
May I not suffer his distress,
And ask my God his pain to ease?
Or, if it be Thy gracious will,
My child in season due to heal?
May I not, till Thy will appears,
Indulge these unrebellious tears,
My suit unblamable repeat,
And mourn, submissive, at Thy feet?
Fountain of unexhausted love,
For ever streaming from above,
My nature's soft infirmity
I feel, a drop derived from Thee!
And wilt Thou not accept Thy own,
Mix'd with the sorrows of Thy Son,
Exalted by that sacred flood,
And offer'd up through Jesus' blood!

For Jesus' sake my son retrieve,
And bid him for Thy glory live,
Live to proclaim his Saviour's praise,
A herald of redeeming grace;
Of future good I ask a sign,
Now, Father, seal the vessel Thine,
And let him serve his Lord alone,
And live, till all Thy will is done.