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Prayers Of An Aged Believer

( Originally Published 1868 )



SIR ROBERT GRANT.

WITH years oppressed, with sorrows torn,
Dejected, harassed, sick, forlorn,
To thee, 0 Lord, I pray ;
To thee these withered hands I raise,
To thee I lift these failing eyes,
Oh cast me not away.

Thy mercy heard my infant prayer,
Thy love, with all a mother's care,
Sustained my childish days ;
Thy goodness watched my ripening youth,
And formed my heart to ove thy truth,
And filled my lips with praise.

0 Saviour, has thy grace declined?
Can years affect th' eternal mind,
Or time its love decay?
A thousand ages pass thy sight,
And all their long and weary flight
Is gone like yesterday.

Then e'en in age and grief thy name
Shall still my languid heart inflame,
And bow my faltering knee ;
For yet this bosom feels the fire;
This trembling hand and drooping lyre,
Have still a strain for thee.

Yes ! tuneless, broken, still, 0 Lord,
This voice, transported, shall record
Thy goodness, tried so long ;
Till sinking slow, with calm decay,
Its feeble numbers melt away
Into a seraph's song.



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