The Fifty-First Chapter of Isaiah, Part 3

I, Even I, am He that cheer
My people in distress and pain;
How weak thy heart, O man, to fear
Thy feeble fellow-reptile man!

Withering as grass he fades, and dies:
Yet hast thou been of man afraid,
Thoughtless of God, who earth and skies
Hath built, and keeps the worlds He made.

The' oppressor's rage thou every day
Hast fear'd, and trembled at his power,
As man like God thy soul could slay,
As hell were ready to devour.

But where is all his furious boast,
His idle wrath, and threatening vain?
Spite of the world and Satan's host,
Thou dost, Thou ever shalt remain.

The captive exile pines for ease,
And trembles lest his bread should fail,
Groans in the pit for his release,
Lest death consign his soul to hell.

But I the Lord thy Saviour am,
Divider of the roaring sea,
The Lord of Hosts is still My name;
Mine arm is now stretch'd out for thee.

My Son I have for sinners given:
Help upon thee, My Son, I place;
Go, plant the new-made earth and heaven,
And bring Me back the ransom'd race.

Thee have I shadow'd with My hand,
In Thee Divine and human join'd,
My Messenger of peace ordain'd,
My Gift of Life to all mankind.

Thee more peculiarly I give,
To souls who for redemption groan,
Say to the dying sinner, Live,

Sion say, Thou art Mine own!