Luke 11:8: Because of his importunity he will rise, &c

Still I knock, and ask, and seek,
A pressing beggar I
Speak, the word of comfort speak,
And grant me the supply.
Pity a poor traveller.
With toil fatigued, with hunger faint;
Give, for Thou hast bread to spare,
O give me all I want!

Perishing for want of food
A sinner claims Thy care;
Every promise is made good
To persevering prayer:
Man may long withhold his aid,
Which want can scarce at last procure;
Never is Thy help delay'd
When souls are truly poor.

Man is cruel to his friends,
And sells his services,
Helps them but for sordid ends,
His own content or ease;
God doth every soul relieve
From His exhaustless stores above;
Grace to all doth freely give,
For God is perfect love.